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Some Impressions on Words, Voice, Listening, and Silence

Dennis Lewis — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 22:58:13 +0000

Impressions for an inner and outer study

The human voice is composed of a fundamental tone and various harmonics, depending on who is speaking and the various existing physical, emotional, mental, and even spiritual conditions. The voice rides on the waves of the breath, which is also conditioned by many factors. When I truly listen to myself as I speak, a miracle occurs: I experience how my voice manifests “who I am” at that moment.

It is important, however, to listen not just to the words themselves, but also to their source and how they vibrate in the body/mind. For instance, do the words arise from a silent, unknown place in myself or from other words (like the billiard balls of Newtonian physics)? It makes all the difference.

When words proceed from other words, they proceed associatively, with no time or space encompassing and penetrating them. The entire process becomes mechanical. This word by you evokes that word by another which then evokes another word by you and so on.

When you listen to an argument between people you will notice this principle in action–sometimes people are even saying the same thing but don’t realize it because the words are just bouncing horizontally off of one another with no vertical sense of real meaning. Or, on the contrary, people can think they are agreeing when they actually disagree quite radically. No one is really listening. Buttons are simply being pushed and words move back and forth interactively by momentum. But when we pause and listen, when we stop inwardly, we have an opportunity to sense and feel the silence again and understand better what it is we wish to say, and what the other is actually saying.

In his book The World of Silence (published in 1948), Max Picard writes: “Words that merely come from other words are hard and aggressive. Such words are also lonely, and a great part of the melancholy in the world today is due to the fact that man has made words lonely by separating them from silence.”

As I mentioned, words have horizontal and vertical aspects. The “horizontal” represents the associative action of the words, the way in which they touch and stimulate one another, much the same way that a billiard ball hits another, which hits another, and so on, on the flat surface of a billiard table. The “vertical” represents the depths from which words arise, and the meaning they carry as a result of that depth.

When words arise from that deeper, more spacious place, we may use the words incorrectly (as far as the dictionary is concerned) but what is being said is understood in and through the silence, however confused the mind might be. The fundamental tone and the harmonics are not just heard but also felt and sensed. Resistance to listening dissolves into silence and an embodied sense of life and meaning.

This essay is based on a conversation I had with friends on my Facebook Authors Page.

A Morning Walk in Desert Silence

Dennis Lewis — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 15:54:16 +0000

On a Morning Walk

Sounds of feet on soft gravel,
birdsong celebrating new day,
and doves calling out
as mountains reach
into brilliant blue sky.
My jacket feels heavy
in the cool air
of this desert silence.

Sensing the Welcoming Presence

Dennis Lewis — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 21:08:38 +0000

Dennis Lewis

When we experience our breath at the deepest levels in ourselves, we are experiencing our own deepest identity. In the Old Testament we find, “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul” (Gen 2:7). In all the spiritual traditions we find chants, mantras, and sounds to bring us back into attunement with the cosmic symphony, a symphony in which each one of us is a note consisting of many harmonics.

Our breath, if we can but follow it inward as it flows through us in its many forms, beckons us toward the miracle and mystery of the silent, creative source of all life, the welcoming presence that we can sense when we look quietly within. Can you sense this presence now? Close your eyes and take a few minutes to experience this welcoming presence, this inner vibrant space and silence that includes within it everything that is happening without conflict.

The Inner Pause

Dennis Lewis — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 19:56:28 +0000

Dennis Lewis

Do this, don’t do that, let go, believe in yourself, repeat this mantra, learn this teaching, study with that teacher, pray this way or that, try this spiritual exercise, don’t express your anger, ponder yet another Zen story, realize you are the Buddha within, breathe better, flow with the Tao, don’t get lost in your beliefs, remember yourself, remember God–all the things that your mind tells you (and the list in endless) that you should or should not do for your spiritual well-being, all your favorite concepts, techniques, and stories.

Can you just pause inwardly for a moment in the midst of all this and experience the miraculous nowness, the silence and spaciousness, that is always here, wherever you are, just waiting for your attention? If not, that’s okay too. The inner pause, the inner stop, is not just one more technique, one more thing to do; it is a portal into the mystery of who you are.

Living in Inwardness

Dennis Lewis — Mon, 17 May 2010 18:01:30 +0000

Dennis Lewis

All of the great traditions speak in one way or another about the significance of “inwardness.” These traditions make it clear that only through living in inwardness can we experience our own real being. Unfortunately, western psychology for the most part has confused inwardness with introversion or introspection, and has, as a result, led us in the wrong direction in understanding this crucial subject.

From the esoteric, metaphysical, spiritual, or even scientific standpoint, whether we are looking “inside” at our own thoughts or feelings or “outside” at a beautiful sunset or a friend’s problems, the actual experience takes place in the field of our own consciousness. Every experience is, in reality, inside consciousness. Or, put another way, consciousness is the global space in which all functioning and perceptual activity take place.

Unfortunately, because of our tendency to live mainly from memory and images, and to existentially define ourselves in relation to the contents of these memories and images, we seldom notice this global space of consciousness, and the concomitant sense of “inwardness” that results. And yet it is just this global perception that can transform our narrow conditioning and identification and free our energy and creativity to be more sensitive and responsive to the challenges of living.

The Conscious Sensation of the Body

To live in inwardness means to experience the so-called inner and outer both as being “inside” consciousness. But this “inside” cannot be taken in a strict, literal way since, from this perspective, the very concept of inside and outside loses all meaning.

A more global experience starts with the conscious sensation of the body. We simply allow ourselves to sense the life of the body in the space of consciousness. This space, which can be experienced as pure potentiality, gives the sensation room to expand, to “unfold.” As we welcome this unfolding, we begin to perceive finer levels of inner vibration, deepening levels of somatic awareness.

Paradoxically, the more inward our experience, the more our kinesthetic and organic senses—and with them the various other senses—begin to relax. And as this relaxation takes place, our perceptions become more global, more all encompassing, as does the world that they reveal. We begin to get a powerful taste of the ancient idea that we are a microcosm of the universe, that the entire universe is in some sense within us.

The Self-Illuminating Space

Living inwardly, then, has nothing to do with introspection, or even self-observation. It is rather the natural result of allowing consciousness to be what it already is: the self-illuminating backdrop or space of all of our perceptions. Paradoxically, living inwardly puts us in touch with a vast panorama of both “inner” and “outer” impressions. Our senses become charged with a new significance, since they are suddenly “re-cognized” as extensions of consciousness. Seeing, hearing, sensing, tasting, feeling, and even thinking no longer function separately but rather become part of one large perception of interconnectedness and globality. And the impressions that emerge become doorways into consciousness itself.

The Meeting of Our Inner and Outer Worlds

From another perspective, living inwardly means to live at the place where the so-called inner and outer worlds meet. This place, which is not really a place at all, is the foundation, the substance, of all experience. This substance, the ubiquitous field of consciousness, is being itself, the all-embracing illuminating silence that lies at the heart of existence.

The “isness” of our life is this silence, the infinite potentiality that allows differentiated experiences to take place. But these experiences, and the sense of self-identify that shapes them, are not who we are. Like ripples on a pond or waves in an ocean, they are simply shifting configurations of something larger and more inclusive, of something unknown. It is our constant identification with these configurations that keeps us from experiencing this intrinsic wholeness of which they are just a part or manifestation.

The best way to get a taste of this wholeness is through the sensation of our own bodies. Sitting quietly with eyes shut, simply allow your sensation to be an intimate object of your awareness—to live inside your awareness. As you begin to experience this inwardness and allow it to deepen of its own accord, you’ll notice that your sensation starts to expand; you will actually feel a kind of opening into an unknown world: the world of consciousness—your own real self.

It is important to understand that living in inwardness, exploring the usually hidden dimensions of our inner self or being, has nothing to do with “self-ishness.” Quite the contrary, the inwardness that we can experience connects us with the inwardness of every human being. It releases us from our constant identification with and attachment to everything in and around us—especially from identification with our self-image and the surfaces of others. It opens us to a mostly unknown world of impressions, energies, and potentialities.

Bringing Inwardness Into Our Outer Lives

Though at the beginning of the work with inwardness we can best come to experience it while sitting quietly, eventually we need to be able to work with inwardness in the midst of our outer lives. We see around us many people who meditate regularly yet are unable or unwilling to bring the work of inwardness into their everyday lives. And if we look closely, we see that this is the result of a basic misunderstanding—the belief that inwardness requires outer silence and a minimum of distractions. Certainly, at the beginning of this work such conditions are helpful, sometimes even necessary. But later, one needs to bring this work into the stress, noise, and disharmony of the outer world. For we ourselves are part of and contribute to this stress, noise, and disharmony. We are in fact not separate from it. It is not others who create our outer lives; it is we, ourselves, who do so. By bringing the work of inwardness into every corner and aspect of our lives, we not only see the many ways we contribute to the negativity in and around us, but we also begin to discover how it can be transformed.

The Silence at the Heart of Being

Dennis Lewis — Fri, 16 Apr 2010 13:58:29 +0000

Dennis Lewis

All the great mystical traditions speak of a miraculous silence, or emptiness, that lies at the heart of being, at the heart of the kaleidoscope of life. These traditions refer to this silence not as an absence but rather as a fullness that is beyond description, beyond the reach of human thought, a fullness that, miraculously, is the very substance of our universe.

Modern science, too, seems to evoke this idea when it speaks of an almost infinite number of spinning galaxies in silent, expanding space or the dazzling dance of particles and waves that emerge out of the space/time continuum-where matter dissolves into energy, and energy into shifting configurations of something unknown.

Though it is impossible to describe this resounding silence, this over-flowing emptiness, the great traditions tell us that it is possible to experience it, here and now, as our own fundamental being, as our “Self,” as “I Am.” They also tell us that this experience, which is more aptly defined as a “non-experience,” is somehow both the beginning and the end of our possible spiritual evolution. They tell us that by returning to this primordial “source,” this psycho-spiritual “absolute,” we can be transformed and realize our highest potentials in the very midst of our everyday lives and of the life force that propels it.

To be sure, this return, though it requires an on-going, earnest search, takes place instantaneously. Every moment that we are awake and aware gives us a new opportunity to “listen” for this inner silence that somehow defines what we are in our very essence. To begin to live consciously thus means to turn toward our own inwardness, where the world of silence, of being, can come alive and can give substance and meaning to our words, actions, and perceptions.

The attempt to turn toward this silence is both a psychological and a metaphysical act. Psychological because it demands that we begin to free ourselves from our constant identification with the thoughts, feelings, sensations, goals, perceptions, and so on that somehow define our sense of ourselves; and metaphysical because it takes us into unchartered, perhaps even transcendent, territory, where we can experience an entirely new perspective, an expanded, more global sense of ourselves.

The effort to hear and attune ourselves to this inner silence can work magic in our lives: for this silence can not only heal us and give our lives meaning, but, perhaps even more importantly, it can bring us to the direct perception of who we really are. The tension, the polarity, created by our search for this silence and our need for outward manifestation can open up a new vision of ourselves, and with it an entirely new arena for self-study: our own apparent duality.

On the one side is the “call” of our inner being, fed by the depths of silence that somehow represent our innermost possibilities; on the other side is our constant urge toward manifestation, in which our thoughts, feelings, and sensations work to propel us outward toward the world around us. It is this seeming separation between the inner and the outer that gives us a new understanding of what it means to be whole, autonomous beings. For the inward call toward being and the outward urge toward manifestation complement and complete each other. The movement inward unchecked by the demand for outward manifestation turns into imagination and dreaming. And outward manifestation without an inner search is empty and simply creates confusion in both ourselves and the world. It is the silence encompassing both of these directions that can bring these two movements into harmony and put us into touch with a new, global awareness that embraces everything in our lives. From the perspective of this awareness, there is no duality; there is only the direct, non-dual perception of wholeness.

What can help bring us to this silence? It all begins with self-inquiry, self-interrogation. It is only when we are deeply in question that we become momentarily free from our conditioning and self-image and are open to the presence of silence–and truth–in ourselves. Self-inquiry may begin with a mental question such as “Who am I?”, but to have any real action on us the question mark must also reach into our heart and body. When it does, when we really need to understand, our questioning evokes a profound sense of spaciousness, an opening into silence itself.

There are many opportunities in the course of our daily lives to return to this silence, for the silence is always there at the heart of things. Through direct observation it is possible to see that everything that takes place in our lives is simply a superimposition over this silence. It is important, however, that we realize this silence is not itself an object, a thing, but is rather the very foundation of our being, the ultimate perceiver of all things. When listening occurs, it is silence that listens.

There are certain times and conditions when it is more possible to be attuned to this silence. Early in the morning just after waking up or at night just before falling asleep are both times when the silence can be experienced. Our conditioning has either not yet been put into motion or is in the process of relinquishing control of our organism, and our attention, if we allow it, can actually unfold into the silence.

Another situation in which it is possible to experience this silence is between two thoughts or activities, when the mind or the body is less active. To become open to the silence, however, requires that we consciously allow this gap to remain, not trying to fill it with some meaning or action as we habitually do. We can also return to this silence between two breaths, especially between the out-breath and the in-breath. When we practice this often we suddenly discover that the silence has always been there, just waiting for our return.

Finally, it is important to remember that this silence is not simply a psychological or physiological phenomenon, but is rather the essence, the background, of our being. The great spiritual traditions have spoken of this silence in their own way as God, Brahma, the Ultimate Perceiver, Nirvana, Wu Chi, the Absolute, and so on. What is important is not how it is spoken of, of course, but rather the recognition that the world of silence, which lies at the heart of our life force, gives birth to everything that we know and are. To lose touch with this world is to divorce ourselves from our own essential being–and to divorce the world itself from its own source. For it is silence that creates, and it is silence that perceives its creation.

The Master of Silence

Dennis Lewis — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 20:08:21 +0000

Hundreds of people were gathered in an immense meeting hall to hear the words of a famous master who was going to speak about the crucial importance of stillness and silence in the process of awakening.

As so often happens in such a large group, some people were sitting quietly while others were conversing with their neighbors. A few minutes before the talk was to begin, one of those who had been sitting quietly, albeit not very peacefully since his mind was filled with judgments about people speaking “unnecessarily,” thought it best to attempt to quiet the crowd. So he turned to the people sitting near him and told them to please quiet down so that there would be silence in the hall when the master entered. He also told them to pass the message on to those sitting near them.

Within seconds the hall was louder than ever, abuzz with people telling one another to quiet down. At the height of all this commotion The Master of Silence got up from a chair at the very back of the meeting hall, where, unbeknownst to most of the people in the hall, she had been sitting quietly having a conversation with a man sitting next to her, and walked slowly and mostly invisibly to the podium. Busy as most people were with quieting one another, only a few people in the audience noticed, including the moderator of the meeting, who stood up when he saw her coming up the aisle, picked up the microphone, cleared his throat several times, and, asked everyone for silence.

As soon as the room became quiet, the moderator introduced the master, speaking glowingly about her background and many achievements in the spiritual realm. After the introduction, the master, smiling profusely, thanked the moderator for his “splendid introduction.” She then sat in silence for long while.

Finally, looking back and forth at the many expectant faces in front of her, she said, “You know, I was having a wonderful conversation with a man sitting next to me in the back of the room about one of the main obstacles to awakening before you all started telling everyone to quiet down. Would any of you be interesting in knowing which obstacle we were talking about?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” came eager voices from all over the hall.

“We were talking about the belief in our own assumptions, especially the belief that we know what is best in every situation,” the master replied. “Apparently, someone here, assuming that he or she knew what was best for us, played upon your suggestibility and created a chain reaction of unnecessary noise, making it virtually impossible to continue our conversation. Frankly, this showed me that you are probably not yet ready for a real exchange on the importance of stillness and silence in the process of awakening.

I will leave you, however, with one thought: the stillness and silence I was going to discuss here have nothing to do with remaining externally still and silent, although that can often be helpful. Real stillness and silence come from within, from seeing and letting go of all assumptions and expectations and becoming interested is learning and experiencing the truth of the situation in which you find yourself.”

She then got up from her chair on the podium and left the hall. After several minutes, during which no one moved or spoke, people slowly began turning toward one another and discussing silence in real earnest.

The Mullah & His Flower Garden

Dennis Lewis — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 21:53:35 +0000

Mullah Nasruddin Traveling to Get Advice on His Flower Garden

Mullah Nasruddin had put a lot of effort into starting a beautiful flower garden and was eagerly awaiting the results. One morning he woke up and the garden was in full bloom. But it was filled not just with the flowers he had planted but also with a yellow blanket of dandelions, which he didn’t like. After pondering his problem, he sought out the advice of famous gardeners everywhere about how to get rid of these dandelions, which were overrunning his garden. Try as he might, none of the advice worked; in fact the dandelions seemed to feed on these efforts to get rid of them. Finally, in apparent desperation, he sought out the advice of the royal gardener at the sheik’s palace, a man reputed to be very wise. The royal gardener made many suggestions, but the Mullah had already tried them all. Finally, after sitting in silence for many hours, the gardener looked at the Mullah and said, “Well, since you can’t get rid of the dandelions, perhaps you’d better learn to love them.” “That’s just it,” said the Mullah, “I already do.”

My retelling, with a twist, of a famous Mullah Nasruddin story. Taken from my essay Awakening to the Miracle of Ordinary Life.

The Boundless Breath: A Gateway Into Our Unconditioned Nature

Dennis Lewis — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 19:19:42 +0000

Dennis Sitting with Raven Circling Above

Here is a special meditation of self-inquiry, in which you will explore your breath as a gateway into yourself. Through practice of this meditation, you will have an opportunity to receive a glimpse, a taste, a sense of your inner being, your unconditioned nature.

Sit Comfortably in Silence

Begin by sitting toward the front of a firm chair, with your spine straight but supple. You can, of course, sit cross legged on a cushion if that is comfortable for you. However you sit, make sure your hips are higher than your knees.

Close your eyes, and fold your hands together in your lap or put them palm down on your knees. Rock gently forward and backward on your “sit bones” until you find a comfortable yet erect posture (if you are sitting on a chair, check your feet to be sure they are relaxed and flat on the floor). Just sit in silence for a few minutes, simply being present to yourself as you are.

Engage Your Thinking with the Question “Who am I?”

Now, with your thought, ask yourself who you are. Don’t allow yourself to be taken by any particular answer. Simply ask the question “who am I?” and observe and let go of any answers as they appear. Ponder this question with your mind for at least five minutes.

Engage Your Feelings with the Question “Who am I?”

Now ask “who am I?” again, but this time, see if you can ask with your feelings. See if you can feel your whole life all at once: “Who am I?” “What’s it all about?” Allow these questions to open your heart and free you from the fixed attitudes you have about yourself and the world. Work in this way for at least five minutes.

Engage Your Sensation with the Question “Who am I?”

Now let the whole sensation of your body enter your awareness, including a sensation of your breathing. Follow your breath as it moves from the tip of your nose, through your nasal passages, into your throat and trachea, and down into your lungs. Sense how the tissues of your body seem to open like flowers as you inhale and close as you exhale. Don’t try to “do” anything. Just follow, sense, and watch. Observe in an intimate way any thoughts or feelings that take place, but don’t lose yourself in them. Continue to sense your body and follow your breathing like this for at least five more minutes. Then ask “who am I?” again, this time with your entire sensation. Let the question touch every cell of your body. Work in this way for at least five minutes.

A Gateway Into Our Unconditioned Nature

As you continue to follow your breathing, notice the pause that occurs naturally at the end of your out-breath. Include this pause in your overall awareness of yourself. The great mystical traditions have spoken of this pause, this space, between the out-breath and the in-breath as a gateway into our unconditioned nature, into our underlying reality as pure consciousness. It is in this boundless space between exhalation and inhalation, a space that is always there beneath, around, and within our thoughts, feelings and sensations, that we can more readily begin to let go of everything we believe we know about ourselves and open ourselves to the unknown.

Continue to follow your breathing, paying special attention to the space between exhalation and inhalation. Sense this space as kind of “resting place,” a place to give up your self-image, your identity, and simply come to rest in yourself. Don’t try to force anything. Just watch and sense.

As your breathing continues, and as this space begins to expand into a sense of global consciousness, let yourself become one with it. See how your thoughts, sensations, feelings, and breath are all contained within consciousness itself. Feel the miracle of yourself here and now, alive in a vast ocean of space and presence—alive in the vast ocean of the unknown.

When You’re Ready to Finish

When you’re ready to stop, let go of any experiences you may have just had and return to the whole sensation of your body and the movement of your breath from the tip of your nose down into your lungs. Then stop following your breath and just sense yourself sitting there in silence. When you’re ready, gradually open your eyes, get up, and return to your so-called ordinary life.

###

Copyright 2009 by Dennis Lewis. You can find expanded versions of this practice in my book Free Your Breath, Free Your Life, and in my audio program Natural Breathing (where I personally guide you through the practice).

The Unstruck Sounds: Don’t Let Yourself Become Breathless When You Speak

Dennis Lewis — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 06:18:24 +0000

The Breath of Life & Meaning

Many of us when we speak lose ourselves in our impulse to make a point or win an argument. As a result, we try to say too much too quickly. Sometimes we try to say as much as we can before we are interrupted. At other times we just get get carried away expressing our thoughts or feelings. In doing so we often find ourselves still speaking when we simply don’t have enough breath left to support our voice. When this happens we quickly find ourselves grasping (or even gasping) for air. This grasping creates unnecessary tension not only in our minds and emotions, but also in our diaphragm, chest, back, belly, and so on, tension that not only undermines our breathing but also our communication with others. A voice deprived of the full power of the breath does not carry the harmonic nuances and subtleties that are such an important part of the spoken word. Such a voice is no longer connected with the deep silence that gives meaning to our words.

Next time you find yourself in a discussion or giving a speech, take your time as you speak. If you sense that you are about to run out of breath, simply stop what you are saying and let yourself breathe for a breath or two, paying attention to the silent pause at the end of your out-breath. Rest there, recollect yourself, before continuing on. These pauses are not only good for your breathing, they are also good for your soul. They give you an opportunity to come home to yourself and see if what you are saying is worth saying and what you really wish to say.

It is important to realize that the very same same principles generally apply when you are writing articles, books, e-mail messages, discussion posts, and so on. As you think to yourself and write, you can also run out of breath and lose your connection with silence. Long concentration at your computer, typewriter, or note pad can constrict your diaphragm and result in fast upper chest breathing and insufficient oxygen to your brain and body.

Finally, does what you say and write spring from deep within, from silence? Does it help you and others reflect on what is important? Or is it simply a mechanical, associative expression of “like and dislike” or of self-love or vanity? As you learn to listen to yourself impartially as you speak and write, your words will reconnect with silence and thus carry new energy and meaning. You will discover a new breadth of both discernment and openness.

This is what I have discovered in my own life. It isn’t always easy for me to listen to what I say and how I say it (sometimes it’s nearly impossible), but such listening brings me a greater appreciation and wonder for the “unstruck sounds”* that lie at the heart of being. It is the unstruck sounds that bring real meaning and substance not just to our words but also to our lives.

*From Rumi, Unseen Rain (Threshold Books, 1986, p. 12): ”Listen to the unstruck sounds, and what sifts through that music.”