Category: Spiritual Musings

Life Musings, Spiritual Musings

Matrix Moment

Crystal Fleming

One of my nerd hobbies is keeping track of odd, fortuitous coincidences.  I started noticing them in my early twenties.  While I found them delightful, I found it perplexing that they usually pertained to things and situations that did not strike me as particularly important.  That is, it seemed the Universe would unfurl itself in these really interesting and cool coincidences, obviously meant to capture my attention, but the content of the coincidences was usually frivolous.  The paradox stumped me for years.  I wondered: “Why, in the name of all that is holy and true, would God take the time to bring my attention to this particular coincidence.. when it concerns small potatoes?”

Over time, I began to get the message that the coincidences are not to be analyzed, understood or examined.  I started to sense that it was a kind of game – the universe’s / God’s / angels’ way of sending me the cosmic negro head nod .. a kind of inter-galactic wink.  There was definitely a divine playfulness involved. I also knew (sensed) that it was supposed to “delight” me – a way of signaling that God is present and interacting/playing with me.

More recently, I’ve sensed that these cosmic winks are meant to communicate something a bit more precise.  When they happen – that is, when I notice them – I know intuitively that God is whispering: Relax. All is as it should be. I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing at that moment.  I can’t really explain the source of this knowingness – I just know it.  It’s God’s way of reminding me of who’s in control, reminding me that there is a divine intelligence at work, unfolding as and through the universe.

Anyway.  Two matrix moments unfolded today. But I only have the energy to relate one of them.  So here goes:

I made plans to see the Dance Theatre of Harlem’s ballet in Lincoln Center and meet up with some folks at the performance.  Sounds great, except I also had plans to speak with a group of middle school and high school students about the value of a college education.  This meant I had to drive an hour east from my place to Stony Brook, talk with the kids, then drive an hour and a half west to Manhattan for the performance.  Usually this would have been more than enough time, especially in the middle of the day, but the Universe decided otherwise. It took me two and a half hours to get from SBU to Lincoln Center. I was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic 2 miles from the venue for almost an hour.  It was excruciating. My eyes darted from the traffic, to the clock, to the Manhattan skyline, to the sea of taxis on all sides, to the clock, to my phone, to the steering wheel and back to the unmoving traffic.  My head began to throb.  I tried calling the box office to make sure I could pick up my ticket after the show began.  No one answered.  I called again.  No answer.  I called again.. and again.,. then realized the futility of it all.

My internal monologue was brutal:

The ticket was fucking expensive.  They’re never going to let you in.  You know how they are at Lincoln Center.  Didn’t you hear that girl who told you they didn’t let her into her show because she was late?  You’re such a fuckup!  You’re going to be so embarrassed getting there late.  Why can’t you ever do anything right?  This is the second time you’ve been late for a show in the city!  What’s wrong with you?  The ticket was fucking expensive.  They’re never going–

Yes, the monologue repeated.  Over and over again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I focused on my breathing.  I noticed the thoughts.  I decided to become as aware as I possibly could of the situation.  It occurred to me that being late to something is really good training ground for one’s spiritual practice.  I allowed myself to feel pissed and irritated.  I let the embarrassment wash over me.  It felt like a warm, itchy wave dousing my head, neck, shoulders and arms.  I survived the feared embarrassment and saw the world had not yet been destroyed.  I was still breathing.  I caressed the leather on my gear stick, using the sensation to bring me back to the present moment.  I looked intently at the yellow blossoms of the trees, absorbed the colorful buildings around me.  Everything is unfolding as it should.  There is no such thing as “late” when it comes to cosmic timing.  Relax.  You will get there exactly when you should.  And if they don’t let you (me?) in, I (we?) will handle it.

I wondered how I would feel if I were a billionaire and late to a show.  Would I panic?  Does Oprah get her panties in a knot when she’s running late to a performance?  Would Buddha, Jesus or God worry about being late?  What about the show that was unfolding in front of me right now?  The play of the clouds.  The beauty of the afternoon sun.  I remembered what a journalist wrote about his interview with Eckhart Tolle — that Tolle was terribly late for but offered no explanation other than a simple apology and a smile.  I smiled.  It’s fine.  I will get there when I get there.  This must be the divine will for the unfolding of this moment.

Still, as much as I tried to keep myself from rushing, I pressed hard on the gas pedal whenever possible.  I ruthlessly edged out aggressive taxis who tried to cut into my lane.  I noticed that I had to pee.  Somehow I managed to despair and relax simultaneously.  I finally arrived, parked, then went to the wrong box office.  I caught myself walking too quickly.  I intentionally slowed down.  Forty minutes after the show began, I found my way to the Rose Theater at Lincoln Center.  I went to the will call table.

“Fleming.  I’m late.” I tried not to sound panicked.  I got this.

“Who’s holding your ticket?”

“I don’t understand.  Holding my ticket?  I already purchased it.”

“You’ll have to go downstairs.”

“Oh, okay.”

I feigned nonchalance and turned around to see a woman heading into an elevator.

“Could you hold it for me please?”

It so happens that she was also going down to get her ticket.  We were both late.  We chit chatted.  I felt relieved.  I wasn’t the only one.  (In fact, there were a dozen others waiting to get in.)

So where is the matrix moment in all of this?

Well, we both went to get our tickets.  We both took the elevator back upstairs.  We both went back to the entrance.  She then mentioned being thirsty.  So we both went to get a sip of water.  As they prepared to let us in, I smiled:

“Enjoy the show.”

“You, too!”

We went our separate ways.  Or so we thought.

Inside, the usher asked if we were seated together.

“No, we’re not.”

“Actually, you are.”

Turns out . . . we were both seated in adjacent seats in the second row.  We couldn’t believe it.

I tried to think of alternative explanations — perhaps they just issued us these tickets on the spot, because we were both late and the seats were open . . .  But no.  Both of us had already purchased our tickets in and our seats were issued and assigned days in advance.  There is no logical reason why the two of us would have both been late, happened to arrive at the exact same time, end up talking to each other and then find that we were seatmates.

“Guess we better introduce ourselves,” I said.  And we did.  A new friend.  Oh, and the other matrixey part of it?  Turns out she’s friends with a longtime faculty member in the Africana Studies Department at SBU — where I now have a joint appointment.  

Awesome sauce.

There may or may not be a special reason for me to have met Sheila.  The point is that this rather elaborate, multi-faceted coincidence would not have happened if I had arrived 1 minute earlier or later to the show.  It was only by my being exactly as late as I was that I could be right on time to meet her. It doesn’t matter if we never meet or talk again.  The coincidence itself is its own gift – yet another reminder that, despite indications to the contrary, and regardless of our own angst, worry, embarrassment or suffering, everything is unfolding exactly as intended.

And by the way – the show?  It was incredible.   I was at turns moved to awe-struck silence, eyes brimming with tears, inspired – then suddenly swerving my neck and snapping my fingers along with the dancers as they seamlessly transitioned from classical ballet to shaking their perfectly shaped asses to James Brown’s “I Got The Feelin'”.  It was a hell of a performance.

By Matthew Muphy
By Matthew Muphy

Spiritual Musings

1 Week of Mindlessness

Crystal Fleming

So last weekend I said I would try to get through the next few steps of my life without my spiritual practice.

This was kind of an odd thing to do, given that for the last year and a half, my spiritual practice has consistently provided me with a sense of peace, contentment and joy even through the drama of my everyday life.  But suddenly, I wanted to see how life would look without being mindful.  I’d begun to worry that my spirituality had become an existential crutch.

Perhaps at this point it would help to briefly explain what my spiritual “practice” looks like.  Generally, I’m not big on practices.  I don’t like rigid routines and rules. My approach to practice is in fact less about what I “do” and more about my on-going state of conscious awareness.  Rather than meditating at particular times, I’ve aimed to live in meditation and cultivate stillness.  I use techniques such as self-inquiry (Advaita Vedanta), conscious breathing and the intense experience of sense perception (e.g. focusing on the sensation of touch, the pre-conceptual experience of vision, the inner silence brought on by acute listening) to “remind” my “mind” of its own non-existence and align my attention with the All-There-Is.  In addition to these practices, I would read spiritual texts and watch related videos on a semi constant basis.

Anyway, over the past week, I stopped watching videos and for the most part stopped reading spiritual texts.  I dropped the intentional practice of self-inquiry.  I dropped most of my techniques of mindfulness.  And I generally went back to what I call conventional living.  While I was aware of my emotions and my inner state, I did not take the second step of being aware of my awareness.  It is this second step which allows for de-identification from the mind.

During this week-long experiment, I consciously allowed myself to identify with the mind – for the first time in over a year.

So what were the results?  Well, it was basically a disaster.  I found myself immediately plunged into the depths of despair.  Not because my life was objectively worse, but because I began to take my mind’s egoic tormenting seriously.  Mindfulness allows me to fully experience my emotions and thoughts, but also to know that I am not defined by them.  During my mindless experiment, I felt the sting of my mind’s critical and fearful thoughts.  And it stung like a m..fucker.  I felt small.  Mindfulness had allowed me to live beyond the confines of my egoic “self” and to identify with the expansiveness of the Universe. But living as a ‘person’ again meant defining myself as an individual entity, with individual fears, hopes and dreams.  I felt small and anxious – like I had to defend my own turf.  It sucked.

Now, in the interests of science, I should probably tell you that I was PMS’ing this week.  Therefore, we are unable to know whether the depths of despair I’ve just described were brought on by my conscious mindlessness or by my spiked hormone levels.  I’m inclined to think it was a little of both . . .

* * *

I have the great fortune of having a wonderful therapist I’ve been seeing for almost a year and a half.  Did I mention that he’s Asian?  Yes, I, Dr. Black Woman, have an Asian male therapist.  Anyway, he’s awesome.  And what’s particularly awesome about him is that he works with other academics and is deeply familiar with the demands of “the profession”.  The best thing about him, though, is that he’s very supportive of my spirituality.  And his therapeutic approach, which is grounded in mindfulness, has been very compatible with nonduality.  He doesn’t seem to know much about Buddha or Mooji, or if he does, he skillfully feigns ignorance, but when I talk about their teachings, he is able to reframe them in a way that highlights the compatibility of ‘spiritual’ and therapeutic approaches to well-being and awareness.

I used to feel more self conscious about having a therapist, until I found out that almost everyone I know in academia also has a therapist . . . or is on antidepressants . . . or both. Just the other day, another colleague told me that a good therapist helped them manage the stress of the tenure process.

[Interlude. We’re now in my weekly therapy session. ]

Me: So I decided to give up my spiritual practice for a week.  I stopped trying to be mindful, stopped reading books, watching videos, everything.

Therapist: And how did that go?

Me: Terrible.  I’ve just been incredibly sad, which is unusual.  I’ve been really good at managing my emotional life over the last year in large part due to my meditation practice.  Mindfulness has really be instrumental in helping me dis-identify with my emotional states.

Therapist: But mindfulness is also about acceptance.  You don’t want to negate how you feel.  There’s a logic to your feelings.

Me: I know, and you’re right.  But my way of being mindful is to fully accept and experience whatever comes up, but also to take that second step of awareness that involves knowing that I am not my emotions.  I am not my thoughts.  And just that step alone brings me such great peace.  Maybe there’s some negation going on that I haven’t explored.  I’ll have to give it more thought.  I usually don’t try to analyze my feelings as I’m experiencing them.  I might talk about them with a friend at some point, or sometimes on my blog or here with you, but otherwise, I try not to delve too deeply into the logic.  My peace of mind comes from knowing that I’m not defined by the logic — that there’s an observer.  Does that make sense?  Do you kind of get it?

Therapist:  Yes.  I get it.  You know, one year is not that long to practice mindfulness.   You want it to become second nature.

Me: You’re right.  I hadn’t thought about it that way.  One year isn’t very long.  

Therapist: It takes time, right?

Me: Yes.  I guess it does.  But I also feel like it was becoming my second nature — it’s the way I’ve been living on a regular basis and it’s brought me great peace.  I just started to feel like I was, perhaps, overly dependent on my spirituality.

(pause)

Therapist: So what are you going to do?

Me: I’m going to go back to my spiritual practice.  I suppose I just wanted to see what would happen if I took a break and went back to how I used to live.  I gave it a try and I don’t like it.  At all.

[/Interlude]

* * *

What was so surreal about all of this is that I knew that I could end my suffering instantaneously.  I knew that I could simply choose to “see” the truth at any moment – that I could take that second step of dis-identifying with mind.  But I chose not to.  Instead, I deliberately sat in the hell of my mind’s illusions.  I chose self-immolation – but I didn’t let the fire actually burn the “self”.  I let the small “I” – the personality – survive and even thrive in the flames.  I kept it hooked up to an oxygen tube.  I refused to take it off of life support.   And even more bizarrely, I felt bad about wanting to put it out of its misery.  I found myself worried that wanting to wake the mind up from its illusions was a form of escapism – as if the hell of living life egoically as a ‘person’ was the higher, more auspicious road.  It made no logical sense, but of course it was the mind’s way of encouraging resistance to awakening – of urging me to allow the dream to carry on, while knowing that I could choose to wake up from the nightmare at any moment.

Anyway, all this to say: I’m going back to conscious mindfulness, spiritual practice and yes, even back to my beloved Mooji.  The fact of the matter is that I do want to escape samsara and illusion and the unreal.  I’ll keep my crutches until they fall away on their own.  And today, those crutches include Midol.  Lots of Midol.

Spiritual Musings

I am done with Mooji

Crystal Fleming

..and Nisargadatta Maharaj and Eckhart Tolle and Thich Nhat Hanh and the Bhagavad Gita.

For the time being anyway.

After a year and a half of fairly intense seeking and transformation, I’m going on a spiritual diet.  The realization of my oneness with the Absolute has been beautifully assisted by these teachings & teachers.. but enough is enough. At this point I am reading and hearing the same things over and over again. Now I simply want to live it. No guided meditations or videos or texts.  No more crutches.  Just this moment and the direct experience of the Divine.

Like my veganish, rawish, gluten-freeish eating experiment, I’m doing this without a set timetable or goal. 

It’s become clear that all this spiritualizing is holding something up. What, I am not entirely sure. But I know I need to go these next few steps alone.  As Presence.