Integral News and Views

Self-Reflection & Idiot Responsibility

2008-04-13T18:27:00.000-07:00

by Robert Augustus Masters

Self-reflection is not always what it purports to be. First of all, so much depends on who or what is actually doing the reflecting or introspecting -- for example, if our egoic conditioning is running the show, there won’t be much clarity or depth, given the density of the lens. Our conditioning -- whether gross or subtle, superficial or deep, mundane or metaphysical -- will then tend to make the picks; if we identify with it, then we’ll think that we are making the picks, all but oblivious to our case of mistaken identity.

Secondly, even if we are getting a relatively clear read on what’s happening, we may nonetheless frame it in a way that simply reinforces habits in which we are still entrapped -- for example, if we are dependent on others’ approval or are prone to being overly self-critical, this will likely turn our apparent self-reflection into not much more than an exercise in self-deception, laced with self-flagellation.

We may think that we’re taking an honest look at our part in what has happened -- wanting to see what the situation “says” about us -- but in fact are only assigning too much responsibility (and causal agency) to that part, and too little to others. In letting them off the hook too easily, we simply impale ourselves on our good intentions, perhaps acting as if the resulting pain is an inevitable and even justified consequence of our having fallen short.

And, at the same time, we may feel a certain pride in our apparent willingness to take such an unguarded and probably unflattering look at ourselves, when we are in fact doing something very different -- namely, submitting to our conditioning while acting as if we are not. Such is the essence of idiot responsibility, namely the irresponsible practice of assuming and behaving as if we are being responsible when we’really just taking on --and assuming ownership of -- more responsibility than is actually ours; and such “responsibility” is not necessarily just something which we have taken on ourselves, but can also be inculcated in us by esteemed others.

Just as it’s easy to make our relational difficulties mostly about our partner, it’s just as easy to make them mostly about us. It all depends on which way our accusatory finger is pointing. If it’s aimed at us, the odds are that we are female; if it’s not, the odds are that we are male. Why this is so can be partially answered by considering the emotion that’s most often overlooked in psychotherapy and spiritual practice: shame. Shame usually feels so unpleasant, so painfully exposing, so mortifying, that we understandably want to get away from it as quickly as possible. A particularly common way of doing so is to convert our shame into aggression -- just think of how often those who have been shamed in a film redirect their energies into getting even or getting revenge.

But aggression is not always other-directed; it can also be self-directed. Many (mostly men) turn their shame-based aggression onto their partner, finding fault with, for example, her delivery of what she has to say, thereby conveniently framing her as the messed-up one; and many (mostly women) turn their shame-based aggression back onto themselves, casting an overly critical eye on their shortcomings, or on how they might have better put across their position or needs, thereby cutting their partner too much slack.

This tendency to take too much of the responsibility (which frequently gets degraded into blame) for our relational difficulties is rooted in a crushed, deflated, or otherwise disempowered sense of self, in which love-deserving me is largely supplanted by “bad” or “not-good-enough” me. Seeing how messed up we supposedly are reinforces this diminished sense of self, even as we try to make up for it by being “good” -- admitting our screw-ups, holding ourselves accountable for them, and so on, but taking this too far. Yes, what bothers us about our partner may say plenty about us as well -- as when what we don’t like about them is but a projection of what we don’t like about ourself -- but to assume that whatever bothers us about our partner is no more than a reflection of something less than loving in us simply cuts us off from taking needed stands with our partner, leaving us floundering in the excuse-polluted, confrontation-phobic riptides of idiot compassion.

Some may go so far as to assume, in allegiance to the New Age belief that we literally create our reality, that they -- and they alone -- have literally “created” whatever ills or misfortunes come their way, including in relationship. Such a narcissistic view -- me-centered to the extreme, however humbly, and infused with more than a trace of omnipotent fantasy -- not only bypasses the fact that what others around us are doing inevitably impacts and is impacted by what we are doing, but also is shame-inducing, in that it blames us for things over which we may have either no control or less than full control.

If a girl is raped, and we assume that she has “created” it and is therefore responsible for it (thereby saddling her with the dogma of a particularly pernicious variety of idiot responsibility), we are then, however inadvertently, okaying the rape, perhaps even asking (in spiritually sloppy New Age thinking that’s marooned from common sense and real compassion) what lessons she is trying to give herself by having chosen to be thus raped. (In the pantheon of dumb questions, this is a top contender, all wrapped up in its distorted, insensitive, emotionally vacant, and disembodied metaphysics.) If our partner is abusing us, and we choose to view this as having been created by us, then we are just doing time in a me-centered hell, cut off from any intimacy with the intersubjective space co-created by our partner and us, turned away from the no-bullshit forcefulness and consequence-delivering fierce compassion that our partner may actually need.

Just as there is idiot compassion (acting as if being unrelentingly nice and avoiding taking needed stands is somehow an act of genuine caring), idiot humility (making a virtue out of playing small and not excelling), idiot tolerance (politically correct acceptance and force-fed egalitarianism), and idiot understanding (the disembodied assumption that knowledge is synonymous with wisdom), there is idiot responsibility -- holding ourselves (or lettiing ourselves be held) overly accountable, as if doing so is an act of integrity, when in fact all we’re really doing is setting ourselves up for guilt (after all, if we’ve “created” our cancer, and we just can’t get rid of it, we are failing, aren’t we?).

However, we don’t so much create our reality, as we create our experience of our reality. Yes, we can have a tremendous impact in certain areas, hugely effecting and altering our reality, but that does not mean that we brought it into being. This is a tricky area, because sometimes we can have such an effect on our world that it seems as if we have actually formed or created it, as when a deadly disease miraculously disappears from us. How we are, and how we think, feel, and act, has a definite effect on our reality -- as both quantum physics and genuine spiritual practice demonstrate -- but there are so many factors at play, so many causes and causes of causes and so on ad infinitum, that we cannot conclusively really say -- let alone prove -- that we, and we alone, create our reality. To assume otherwise is to ignore the contingent nature of our existence. We not only exist in relationship, but through relationship -- which means, in part, that creativity is not a solitary but an inherently collaborative process.

If we say to those who have cancer that they have created it, and ask them why they would choose to do so, and what lessons they are trying to give themselves through making themselves so ill, we have, among other things, vastly oversimplified how things actually happen -- there are so many factors involved in their having cancer that there’s no way we can view and take into account all of them -- as well as trying to implant in such people the notion that they must have really screwed up somewhere (beyond obvious inner and outer factors, such as their emotional state and diet) to get so sick, forgetting that many great saints have had cancer, regardless of their degree of illumination.

None of this is to say that we ought not to take full responsibility for what we do with our lives, but that we would do best to only take responsibility for what is our part (which, of course, also takes into account its impact on others). To do more may seem noble or generous, but is really just deflated egoity having its time in the sun, no matter how dark the day. Genuine responsibility does not shame or blame, but simply is the capacity or ability to fittingly respond to what is happening, rather than just reacting to it.

Such responsibility does not fall prey to the inappropriate assuming of agency, but rather stabilizes us, grounding us in real integrity and compassion, preparing us for a deeper life, a life of fully embodied, ever accountable awakening to what we truly are. As we thus awaken, we go beyond belief into self-illuminating experience, no longer seducible by hope (nostalgia for the future) and knowledge, entering a domain where self-reflection is no longer self-deflection and where being responsible is not something we do, but naturally are.

- Contributed by Robert Augustus Masters; originally posted on his blog (January 2007)

see also

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

From Slumber to the Fires of Computation - Kevin Kelly

2008-03-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

In this article Kevin Kelly considers the history of the universe from the perspective of a hydrogen atom, and how the flow of energy has evolved from the Big Bang to the present time.

An atom’s brief journey through a technological artifact is a flash of existence unlike anything else in its long life span.

Most hydrogen atoms were born at the beginning of time. They were created in the fires of the big bang and dispersed into the universe as a uniform warm mist. Thereafter each has been on a lonely journey separate from anything material. When a hydrogen atom drifts in the unconsciousness of deep space, it is hardly much more active than the vacuum surrounding it. Time is meaningless without change, and in the vast reaches of space which fill 99,99% of the universe, there is little change.

After billions of years, a hydrogen atom might be swept up by the currents of gravity radiating from a congealing galaxy. With the dimmest hint of time and change it slowly drifts in a steady direction toward other stuff. Another billion years it bumps into the first bit of matter it has ever encountered. After millions of years it meets the second. In time it meets another of its kind, a hydrogen atom. They drift together in mild attraction until eons later they meet an oxygen. Suddenly something weird happens. In a flash of heat they clump together as one water molecule. Maybe they get sucked into the atmosphere circulation of a planet. Under this marriage, they are caught in great cycles of change. Rapidly the atom is carried up, and then rained down into a crowded pool of other jostling atoms. In the company of uncountable numbers of other water molecules they travel this circuit around and around for millions of years, from crammed pools to expansive clouds and back. One day in a stroke of luck a water molecule is captured by a chain of unusually active carbon in one pool. Its path is once again accelerated. It spins round in a simple loop assisting the travel of carbon chains. It enjoys speed, movement and change such as could not be possible in the comatose recesses of space. The carbon chain is stolen by another chain, dissembled many times until the hydrogen finds itself in a cell constantly rearranging its relations and bonds with other molecules. Now it hardly ever stops changing, never stops interacting.

The hydrogen atoms in a human body refresh completely every seven years. Our bodies are fancy buckets whose water runs out the bottom as fast as they are being filled up from the top; while we age we are really a river of very old atoms. The carbons in our bodies were produced in the sun. We are, as Carl Sagan so famously said, made of star dust. But the bulk of our body weight is water, and 2/3 of that is hydrogen. So in fact, we are not star dust, but big bang dust. The bulk of matter in our hands, skin, eyes, and hearts was made at the beginning of time, 14 billion years ago. We are much older than we look.

For the average hydrogen atom in our body, the seven years it spends dashing from one cellular station to another will be the fleetingest glory imaginable. Twelve billion years in inert lassitude, and then a brief wild trip through life’s waters, and then on again to the isolation of space when the planet dies. A blink is too long as an analogy. From the perspective of an atom, any living organism is a tornado which might capture it into its mad frenzy of chaos and order, offering it a once in a 12-billion-year-lifetime fling.

As fast and crazy as a cell is, the rate of energy flowing through technology is even faster. In fact technology is more active in this respect and will give an atom a wilder ride than any other sustainable structure we are currently aware of, such as life, planets, stars and galaxies. For the ultimate trip in 2006, the most sustainable energetic thing in the universe is a computer chip.

How can this be? The power density of a system is measured as the amount of energy flowing through a gram of matter per second. The power density of a star is huge compared to the mild power flows drifting through a nebulous gas cloud in space. But remarkably, the power density of a sun pales to the intense flow of energy and activity present in grass. As intense as the surface of the sun is, its mass is enormous and its lifetime is 10 billion years, so as a whole system, the amount of energy flowing through it per gram per second is less than in a sunflower soaking up that sun’s energy.

A nuclear bomb has a much higher power density than the sun because it is an unsustainable out-of-control flow of energy. The same flame-out applies to well, flames, bombs, supernova and other kinds of explosions. They literally consume themselves with energy. The glory of a star is that it can sustain its brilliant fission for billions of years. But it does so at lower energy flow rate than the sustainable flux that takes place in a nuclear bomb, or a green plant! Rather than a burst of fire, the energy flow in grass yields the cool order of green blades, tawny stalks, and plump seeds ripe with information that can replicate the entire plant. Greater yet is the energy flow within animals, where we can actually feel their energetic waves. They wiggle, pulse, move, and in some cases radiate warmth.

System ------ Power Density (erg/s/g)
-----------------------------------------------
Galaxy - - - - 10^-1
Star - - - 10^0
Earth - - - 10^2
Plants - - - 10^3
Otto engine - - - 10^4
Animal body - - - 10^4
Human brain- --- 10^5
Chevy ----- 10^6
747 ----- 10^7
Jetfighter ----- 10^8
8080 chip-------10^10
Pentium chip ------ 10^11

Still greater is the flow of energy through technology. Measure in joules (or ergs) per gram per second, nothing concentrates energy as much as hi-tech gadgetry. At the far apex of the power density graph is the computer chip – the most energetically active thing in the known universe. It conducts more energy (per second per gram) through its tiny corridors than animals, volcanoes, and the sun. It may be better thought of as a very slow nuclear explosion.

A 1-megaton nuclear bomb will release 10^17 ergs, which is a lot power. But the total lifetime of that explosion is only a hyper blink of 10^-6 seconds. If you “amortize” a nuclear blast so that it spent its energy over a full second of time instead of microseconds, its power density would be reduced to only 10^11 erg/s/g, which is about as intense as a laptop computer chip. Energy wise, a Pentium chip is just a slow nuclear explosion.

Indeed the incredibly intense flow of energy required by computation is the major constraint in continual acceleration of small size and increased speed we’ve so far gained in silicon computer chips. It is not so much small-scale engineering that is the challenge for future peta-hertz chips as much as it is dispersing the atomic-bomb levels of energy generating in such small places. So much energy is focused so intensely that laptops will simply melt without sophisticated help. MIT quantum computer maven Seth Lloyd performed a calculation to determine the energy needs of the “ultimate laptop” – one that used all the atoms in one tiny nano-cube of material to compute -- and figured it would be like having the big bang in your lap. Yeah, it was efficient, but boy did it wreck the living room.

Because of the ever-increasing power of smaller chips, only the tiniest femo-fraction of the earth’s atoms will be subjected to this fiery experience. A bit of heavy-duty computation here and there will guide the rest of materials. But more and more of the mass of atoms will be incorporated into either living systems or technological ones. Four billion years ago, none of the atoms on earth were cycling through cells. Today the biomass of earth totals 10^15 kilograms. I know of no figures for the total technomass of this planet, but it is certainly expanding. We need only watch the rate of mining and logging to see that more and more atoms are being swept out of their billion-year slumber and channeled into the explosive, dizzy, action-packed, short-lived ride we call the technium.

This transfer is the grand story of the cosmos, in which matter everywhere in the universe is steadily hijacked by extropic systems. Over the course of cosmic history atomic particles are gathered by galaxies, combined by stars, cycled by planets, twirled by living cells, and most recently, jiggled and enlivened by technology. These all are self-sustaining systems, with no ends in sight. If one extrapolates, one can imagine that eventually all matter in the universe will someday be touched by these energetic processes at the highest levels of life and technology. According to physicist Freeman Dyson there is sufficient energy and time before the end of the universe for all matter to be encompassed into the intelligent design of technology. Or, as he puts the same thought flipped 180 degrees: there is sufficient energy and time for Mind to expand to fill the entire universe. At that moment, all atoms born at the big bang will have, at least once in their long boring existence, been part of a thought.

- Written by Kevin Kelly; contributed by Arthur Gillard. Originally posted on The Technium on February 24, 2006.

Have We Moved Beyond the Age of Gurus? (Ken Wilber transcript)

2008-03-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

The following is a transcript of a selection from Kosmic Consciousness, an interview with Ken Wilber conducted by Tami Simon.

Tami Simon: What about the idea that the ages of the gurus are over, and that as meditations come into the Western culture – a democratic culture – that, yes we need meditation mentors, but we don't need these hierarchical gurus that we don't question.

Ken Wilber: Yeah. Well I think…there's a basic ripeness about that, that the time of the gurus is gone in certain ways; but…that doesn't mean that everything about a guru is therefore unnecessary. Most of these great traditions that we're talking about – whether they're Sufis or Christian Contemplative or Zen or Buddhist Tibetan – really came about during the agrarian era, which is really two major technological epochs ago; and the very typical sort of political structure at that time was almost feudalistic. And so, in Tibet for example, a guru wasn't just what we would call the pastor at the local church, or your local rabbi or priest – the guru was often the political leader, the educator, the priest, the rabbi, everything rolled into one, and if the guru said “jump,” you would sort of say, “how high?” I mean, it was just sort of a very, very complex office that a guru was serving. It was entirely appropriate that under those circumstances you would basically offer every aspect of yourself to the guru, and that was part of a very, very complex training that also had a cultural background that supported it – and…under those cultural conditions it wasn't harmful in a way that we today would think of as harmful.

Nowadays, though, in democratic industrial and postindustrial egalitarian societies, that is a fish out of water to put it mildly; and a lot of the turmoil in the first couple of decades that the eastern traditions came into this country is that the gurus and teachers were coming out of these cultures and traditions where the guru was sort of everything – and then you come over here and that doesn't play in America. It's like, “are you kidding me?” We've got this incredibly individualistic, egalitarian culture. At the same time there are parts of it that, there's just no going back. There's a kind of democratic, egalitarian attitude that is going to mark this and most future forms of governance. So what you have to do is sort of scale the guru down, so to speak, in an appropriate way.

What you don't want to do is throw the baby out with the bathwater. And the problem, in this otherwise very necessary scaling down of the guru, is that we've shrunk the guru to really a miniature version of what it's supposed to be. And we want to do that because a real guru or a real teacher threatens our ego; that's basically the whole essence here. And we're not talking about, [at] this point, the guru as some sort of domineering figure that tells you everything you're supposed to do. At some point any form of profound spiritual practice is a real transcendence of self, if you want to find some form of higher kosmic consciousness other than your mere egoic identity; and under those circumstances, the ego does not go gracefully or willingly. And so if you're just sort of hanging out and you're your own spiritual teacher, you're probably not going to go as far as you can on the path – because you just won't endure the torment, the difficulty, the embarrassment, the profound pain of dying to your own separate self and your own separate identity. And under those circumstances, then you want a – by whatever name – spiritual teacher that's going to walk you though that. At some point there is a profound surrendering that goes on – again, it's not a dominating or domineering situation, but it's a profound letting go of your own absolute desire to be in charge, or be in control. That can happen in a spiritual teacher-student relationship in a very profound way.

Obviously there has to be checks and balances about it – there are certain things that you really can't do in those circumstances and they are very similar to the things that you cannot do if you are a psychoanalyst or psychotherapist. It's the same kind of relationship in a sense, and that has to be in place – you're not allowed to have sex with students, you're not allowed to take money in certain ways, you're not allowed to in any way make career choices for them, etc. etc. etc. But there comes a point where there has to be a profound surrendering of the separate self to that greater awareness and greater consciousness; and if a spiritual teacher is living that to you and transmitting that to you in an authentic way, then that's a very important component. That's not just a bunch of spiritual friends walking the path together holding hands! That's somebody who is enlightened and is fundamentally transmitting that enlightenment to you, as a demand, that you yourself awaken to that estate.

So my concern is that in necessarily and appropriately scaling down a guru, that we've scaled him out of existence; and we've replaced him with a kind of feel-good spirituality that lets us all rest in our own egoic self and nobody challenges us. So we have no rankings, no degrees of better or worse, higher or lower, no more enlightened or less enlightened – and then we're all equally unenlightened in a certain sense. Nobody's challenged, nobody's threatened – and nobody's awakened. And so that's the sort of downside of what I call Boomeritis, which is kind of a “mush egalitarianism” that really prevents any form of growth or transcendence or depth of development.
- Kosmic Consciousness, Disk Eight, track 4

This transcript was prepared by Arthur Gillard, and is posted here under fair use guidelines. I highly recommend the Kosmic Consciousness CD set as an entertaining and comprehensive introduction to the work of Ken Wilber.

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Lady in the Water (review by Robert Augustus Masters)

2008-02-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

Movie critics generally panned “The Fountain," but really trashed “Lady in the Water,” M. Night Shyamalan’s latest effort. And they didn’t just trash it, but also castigated Shyamalan for the role he played (a character who is apparently destined to have an enormous impact on humanity) in the film. Perhaps what incensed them the most was that the movie critic in the film was not only a desiccated pedant, but also met an untimely death, scripted of course by Shyamalan, who had received some pretty rough treatment from said critics for his earlier films (other than The Sixth Sense).

If I were to take “Lady in the Water” literally — as the children’s fable it supposedly is — then I’d perhaps be irritated by it, grumbling that Paul Giamatti’s virtuoso performance as the central character, Cleveland Heep, was largely wasted. But the very fact that Shyamalan lays out the tale the way he does — after all, he is a very skilled director — is a clue that more is going on than meets the viewer’s eye. (Hint: It’s more than a fable.) In fact, we are being invited not just to look, but also to look inside our looking. And how many movie critics are inclined to do that? Certainly not the majority.

To me, the entire film is about Cleveland’s interiority — and interiority in general, on both personal and collective (and maybe even transpersonal) scales. His is a badly fragmented psyche, compartmentalized without any awareness that it is compartmentalized. An apart-ment complex that he barely manages to manage.

He is us in our usual state (suffering a case of mistaken identity), made worse by the trauma (his wife and children all murdered) he has suffered and is determined to keep secret. The various elements, mostly disconnected or only superficially linked, that constitute him — as personified by the characters in the film — are not let in on his secret. Only the sea nymph, Story, knows, once she has surfaced and entered his life.

Her surfacing — his surfacing, projected onto her — stirs him up, reacquainting him with his pain and his longing to take care of what is naked and vulnerable in him. Her presence forces him to more deeply encounter those who live in the apartment building which he caretakes — that is, those who live in him. Each has a role to play in helping Story, and Cleveland works hard to pull it all together, trying to clearly identify what each person — each part or piece of him — is meant to do in this endeavor. The fragments of his psyche are not so scattered now, as the first signs of a coming together (and perhaps even an integration) appear, orchestrated by Cleveland. Although he is not particularly skillful, he has the advantage now of an increasing single-mindedness.

The common goal is to serve the needs of Story — the needs of his purity, innocence, and depths — but to effectively do so, he has to leave his comfort zone, dive deep, and meet what opposes the purpose with which he is aligning himself. Several encounters with dark, red-eyed, bristling monsters called scrunts shake him up badly, but still he persists. An unlikely hero, perhaps, but a hero nonetheless, aimed toward wholeness.

He goes for advice to the movie critic — his (and, of course, our) inner critic — and takes it in too uncritically. Only when the critic meets a scrunt and is killed by it (after dryly concluding that he will, no doubt, escape from it just in time, because that’s how these movies go) — and is therefore silenced — does Cleveland really start pulling it all together. Now he can finally hear what he needs to hear.

Nevertheless, Story is dying, and the person supposed to heal her cannot. Cleveland finally realizes that it is his role to heal her, to bring her back to life, so he lays his hands upon her wounds, and lets himself go into the heart of the trauma he has been carrying and hiding in the darker places in the apartment building. He weeps and grieves (and Giamatti does an astonishing job here) with abandon, crying for his loss without any self-consciousness. As he does so, Story is revived. And so is he.

Now Cleveland is no longer so apart from his myriad selves. They all go outside — stepping out of the complex that ordinarily contains (or overcontains) them — and align themselves with what must be done with minimal fuss and maximal cooperation.

As was conveyed earlier, each character can be viewed as part of Cleveland’s psyche. Before Story arrived (or was invited forth, however unwittingly, by him), he took superficial care of each character, keeping them in their place (and role), no matter how odd their behavior. However, once Story entered the scene, he took a deeper look at the residents of his building — thereby getting a better look at his interiority. The characters therein are colorfully varied, mundanely archetypal, all stuck in their identities, mostly disconnected from each other until Cleveland, now truly in touch with Story, brings them more and more together in a common and life-enhancing cause.

Think of your sleep-dreams, and how bizarre, odd, surreal, elusive, or disconnected they can be, and remember that everything in them is literally part of you — and not just the people or the role you play, but also the animals, furniture, plants, things, and even the space in which they all arise. Pretty amazing this is, but not so amazing as our tendency to take it all to be real, instead of recognizing it for what it really is.

Cleveland plays himself in the film, but he is also playing everyone and everything else, just like our dreaming consciousness. The more varied and colorful and bizarre the characters are, the less likely Cleveland is to recognize them as himself in disguise. But when he gets close to his depths and innocence and fragility, he begins to awaken, not enough to fully recognize what is going on, but enough to take fitting action, much like someone who, when being pursued by something in a nightmare, wills himself to turn around and face it, even though he doesn’t know he’s dreaming.

To heal is to make whole. “Lady in the Water” puts this across at a level rarely touched in film, and for this it deserves another, deeper watching. Curl up with the fable, yes, and get cozy beneath your blankets as you would for any good bedtime story (which, naturally, needs a few scary parts), but also keep your eyes open for what underlies the fable, existing between its lines and beyond its metaphors. You won’t be disappointed.

- Contributed by Robert Augustus Masters; originally posted on his blog (May 2007)

see also More Than Entertainment: The Fountain

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Chanting

2008-02-13T18:53:00.000-08:00

by Arthur Gillard

Why Chant?

We chant to join our voices to the voices of countless seekers, worshipers, mystics, and lovers of life, in every time and in every place, who have shared in sacred song.

We chant to fill our hearts and fill our homes with loving and peaceful vibrations of sound.

We chant because it's fun.

We chant to help the stress and freneticness of our busy lives melt away.

We chant for the sheer joy of letting our God-given voices sing out.

We chant for the heartful communion that we feel with others when we come together in song.

We chant our prayers to God, so that our lives may be graced by more intimate Presence of the One known by so many names.

- from Chanting: Discovering Spirit in Sound, by Robert Gass, p.10

Chanting may be defined as “a short, simple series of syllables or words that are sung or intoned to the same note or a limited range of notes,” but chanting covers an amazingly diverse spectrum of musical expression, and serves many purposes – telling stories, healing or casting out disease (e.g. when used by shamans or ayahuasceros), conveying instructions, inducing trance, quieting the mind, mourning the dead, opening the heart, relaxation, communing with others or for the sheer enjoyment of it.

Chanting is a form of meditation, and may be synergistically combined with other practices. Chanting in groups can be a very powerful bonding and healing experience, fostering feelings of communion. It is also often a form of devotional practice, a heartfelt prayer, as illustrated in the following quote by the 13th century Catholic lay sister Mechtild of Madeburg:

As the Godhead strikes the note,
Humanity sings.
The Holy Spirit is the harpist,
And all the strings must sound
Which are touched in love.

In addition to the spiritual and meditational aspects, chanting has many measurable physiological benefits as well – and may be used for its physical benefit alone. For example, the repetitive nature of chant induces deeper, slower, more rhythmic breathing, and the sound vibrations of chant resonate throughout our bodies in a kind of internal massage. Brainwave patterns are measurably altered, in a way that is correlated with states of relaxation or heightened creative response, and blood pressure and heart rate are lowered. Eastern traditions believe that chanting frees up the vital bodymind energy known as chi, prana, or kundalini, with very positive impacts throughout the body.

Exercise: Simple Chants

The simplest way to try chanting is to play a chant recording and sing along with it. There are many samples available for free on the Internet – see the reference section for some useful links.

Here are two examples:

Om Namah Shiviya (this may be translated as “I bow to Shiva” or “I bow to the god within”) and is one of the most popular chants in the world today. Samples of this chant are available here.

Om Tara Tu Tare Ture Svaha (“Homage to you, Divine Tara, Radiant Mother of Compassion and Great Protector”).

Track one ("Tantric Tara") of Jonathan Goldman's excellent “Trance Tara” CD is an unusual and particularly powerful version of this chant. A sample is available here.

References

1. Robert Gass, Chanting: Discovering Spirit in Sound (New York: Broadway Books, 2000).

2. Robert Gass, Chant: Spirit in Sound (CD companion to above). [This is perhaps the best single introduction to the variety of chant practiced throughout the world.]

3. Jonathan Goldman, Healing Sounds: The Power of Harmonics (Rockport: Element Books, 1992).

4. Don Campbell, The Mozart Effect: Tapping the Power of Music to Heal the Body, Strengthen the Mind, and Unlock the Creative Spirit (New York: Avon Books, 1997).

5. For information on icaros, powerful chants used for healing in Ayahuasca ceremonies, including samples you can listen to, go to http://www.biopark.org/peru/icaros.html.

_____

This article was written and contributed by Arthur Gillard.

see also:
Toning
Infinity Hymn

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Toning

2008-02-09T15:22:00.001-08:00

by Arthur Gillard

“Toning is the use of the voice to express sounds for the purpose of release and relief...It is nonverbal sound, relying primarily on vowels, though it may incorporate the use of consonants to create syllables as long as they are not utilized to create coherent meaning. Sighing, moaning, and humming may also be recognized as forms of toning.” - Jonathan Goldman, Healing Sounds

Toning may be simply defined as “to make sound with an elongated vowel for an extended period.” Simple in concept and easy to practice, it is nonetheless a powerful tool which may be used for such diverse purposes as pain relief; releasing emotions; resolving past trauma; balancing the flow of energy in the bodymind and restoring harmony.

At a very basic physiological level, toning facilitates deep breathing because in order to release the sounds, the belly and diaphragm must be expanded; deep breathing slows the heart rate and calms the nervous system and thus promotes deep relaxation. Toning facilitates meditative states of consciousness and is believed by many to help clear energy blockages in the chakra system (energy centers in the subtle body).

Simple forms of toning include moaning and groaning to relieve stress or pain. One can adopt a playful attitude and experiment with making diverse sounds using the freedom of your voice, and optionally incorporating other sound-making practices such as banging drums, gongs, pots and pans, etc. In toning the main “rule” is that the sounds should be devoid of conceptual meaning, otherwise you are chanting or singing – certainly worthy in their own right, but not the same practice.

In the following introductory exercise, don't worry about toning on particular notes, rather take an intuitive approach. When the instructions say to change the note, simply make your voice tone deeper or higher as feels right to you.

Toning Fundamentals Exercise (from Sounds of Healing by Mitchell L. Gaynor, p. 99)

Inhale through your nose. Release your breath through your mouth while making one long sustained sound. When you run out of breath, inhale again through your nose and exhale through your mouth, again making a long sustained sound. Repeat this procedure as often as you like.

You can stand, sit in a cross-legged position on the floor, or sit on a chair. Be sure your spine is straight and your diaphragm and abdomen are unobstructed. If you're standing, imagine that the sound is coming up from your feet. Relax your jaw. When you make a sound, let your jaw hang open.

Tone a vowel on the note of your choice for as long as your breath allows. Repeat several times.

Tone the same sound on a different note.

Tone a syllable on the same note. Repeat several times. (Example: Tone OM, LAM, or HU.)

Tone the same syllable on a different note, and repeat.

Find a syllable-and-note combination that you like, and tone it again and again.

References

1. Mitchell L. Gaynor, M.D., Sounds of Healing

2. Jonathan Goldman, Healing Sounds: The Power of Harmonics

3. Jonathan Goldman, Healing Sounds Instructional CD

4. Linda L. Nielsen, Ph.D, Microtonal Healing: Spirit of the Healing Voice

5. Don Campbell, The Mozart Effect

6. Deborah Van Dyke, Traveling the Sacred Sound Current

7. Simon Heather, The Healing Power of Sound

8. Renee Brodie, The Healing Tones of Crystal Bowls

_____

This article was written and contributed by Arthur Gillard.

see also:
Chanting
Infinity Hymn

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Infinity Hymn - Stuart Davis

2008-01-31T07:27:00.000-08:00

[The following is an excerpt from the book Radical Spirit.]

The Radical Spirituality of Generation X, Part 5: Infinity Hymn

By Stuart Davis

Meditation and Creativity Three A.M. Though I’m lying in bed next to my zonked-out girlfriend with my eyes nearly closed, I’m wide awake. Or maybe I should say wide aware. This year, in addition to sitting meditation, I’ve started meditating in bed before and during sleep. I use simple practices focused on breathing in order to move my awareness to a place where I witness events (internal, external, physical, cerebral, et cetera) without identifying with them.

Other times I’ll use a mantra. I’ve only been meditating for a couple years, so I’m a beginner, but I’ve noticed some differences already, most notably in my creativity. The way I write songs, their content, and how I perform them has been changing right along with the way I’ve been changing as a person. Tonight, my creative and meditative dimensions are intermingling more deeply than usual.

As I lie trying to follow my breath and witness things with equanimity, something unusually compelling pops into my mind. It’s a song. A new song. What makes it so unique and intriguing is that it has appeared complete and instantaneously, right out of nowhere. As a songwriter, I know this moment is like hitting the artistic jackpot.

As a meditator, I know this moment may be a distraction which can yank my awareness out of hard-won focus. Conflicted this way, I run the same silent debate I’ve had a hundred times; should I break my focus to get up and write down this creative burst?

If I don’t, I may lose a special song. If I do, I feel like a bad meditator, a scatter-brain who meanders off the path whenever something beguiling appears. But then, part of me argues (or perhaps rationalizes), this song is about spiritual seeking. Rumi created thousands of poems while spinning in an ecstatic state. My lyrics may not compare to Rumi’s poems, but maybe it’s okay to explore a creative flow that comes during meditation.

Discernment is key: I can’t just jump up every time my brain generates an idea while I’m meditating. But this song feels like it came through my brain, not from my brain. This sort of creativity is new to me, but my intuition tells me I won’t be spiritually AWOL if I get up to write down the song. So, I do. It is simply this:

It was easy
when I thought I had to go somewhere
to find You
now I learn
that I must attend to my own funeral
while this body still works
so that You may look through these eyes
and draw breath through this nose
and reach with these fingers
and pulse with this heart
who am I
to keep You from Your house?

When these words appear, they are without music. But, as I write them down in my dream journal next to the bed, a melody arrives too. There it is, a new song, but I feel as if I haven’t done any writing.

It’s more as if by meditating I created an internal setting that precipitated the creative burst. Later, I write more lyrics to it, to "finish" it (with a discerning artistic eye?), and then give it to my Sufi teacher. Without knowing any history of which lyrics were written when, my teacher circles the original lyrics that came in meditation and writes the comment "wonderful.” He also underlines exactly my later additions and writes "Is this material necessary?"

Reading his comments, I burst out laughing. Caught red handed! Over time, I’ve started to get the hint that in some cases my most important job as a songwriter is not to write, but to learn to open an inner space for things to come through, and then to know when I shouldn’t meddle with the results. I can’t say precisely where or what such lyrics emerge from, but I think it’s safe to rule out the ego.

I can sense where a song comes from by what part of me is moved when I write and play it. The above song is about the ego lying down so that something greater can move in. It appeared when I was in a more open, aware state, and when I play it I feel a softening and expanding take place within me.

These are all good indicators that its genesis was from somewhere beyond the ego. I can check any of my songs in this way and trace their roots. I have lots of songs that I know come from my intellect, emotions, or wit because that part of me was buzzing when I wrote them, and the same part is gratified in playing them. The smart-ass in me gets a kick out of writing something like:

Stephen’s exhibition is a masterpiece to see
it’s a series done in oil of his wife in bed with me
in really wild positions, all throughout his home
we cluttered every room with empty tubes of paint and foam
he’s done good work before, but this is closer to his heart
I’m glad that I could help out my friend Stephen with his art

But such a song never comes out of a meditative state. Work like that comes out of my brain, and takes a lot of thinking to write. For a long time thinking and egoic emoting was the only way I created, but meditation has brought more to the way I write songs, what they’re about, and how I perform them. Although having a song appear completely finished is still a rare event, it has become very common for me to write songs with tools other than just my brain.

Many of my creative blocks are now resolved by meditating for a while and stilling the thinking part of my mind. Whereas I once would sit for days on end pulling out my hair (most people still think I shaved my head) trying to come up with the next witty, intellectual zinger for one of my verses, now when I become blocked I often choose to lay back and focus on my breath and open up inner space.

I still write songs using my intellect, but it’s no longer the only way I write. Of course, blending creativity and meditation doesn’t mean that whenever I meditate I get a song out of it, or that God is writing songs for me and then dropping them in whenever I open up enough. But I think it does mean that I have access to parts of my "self" that run much deeper than my intellect, and that those dimensions can be every bit as active in the creative process as my brain has been.

For me, this means developing intimacy with Spirit, and when the intimacy is there (even a little bit), it has a great deal of influence on my creativity. There are artistic drives present in the sub-conscious, conscious, and super-conscious awareness, and meditation enables my creativity to move more freely among all three. Exploring this new creative terrain not only changes where my songs can come from, but what they’re about.

And is this my beautiful house?

When I took up esoteric spiritual practices, it was because of an ache that was tough to describe, but unmistakably real. I felt a need for closeness with God, through something more than just beliefs.

Reading or hearing people talk about God just made me sick, like I was being shown pictures of food to treat my starvation. What did seem to help was prayer/meditation, and my creativity. In retrospect I think that my art was a mystical ‘start-up kit.’ In fact, all the time that religion was empty for me, art kept my soul going. I started using songs to help create a closeness with Spirit.

The Sufis say that if you take one step toward God, God comes running toward you. Soon after I started exploring my spirituality through songs, that became the only thing I could write about. It went from me wanting to take a closer look at spirituality to me looking at everything from a spiritual perspective.

Opening a different kind of awareness in prayer and meditation carried over into and colored the rest of my life. Everything from sleep, sex, eating, driving, watching t.v., and especially songwriting looked and felt different. And if I wrote a song about sleep, sex, eating, or whatever- Spirit would show up in there every time. I would write a song about a cowboy, and it would come out like this:

They say I’m how the West was won
that’s a God-dammed myth
the West is what I’m One with

I’d write a song about sex and it would end up like this:

Every body wants to taste
a little something carbon-based
sex is proof the Holy Ghost
crawls around in stuff that’s gross
yea!

If I tried to go for the opposite and write about the Devil, I ended up with this:

God is Spirit
Spirit is everything
even the Devil

War:

Right now they’re building Gandhis
they’re gonna bomb our ass with Love
and bring us to our knees
just using what we’re made of

Even when I didn’t want to write songs about Spirit, I would end up writing songs about how I didn’t want to write songs about Spirit:

What I refuse
You will use to surround me
I spit out Your seeds
and You grow all around me
even my poison flowers in You

Since then I’ve been getting what I’ve asked for, which is simply some One awakening in my heart, which changes my inner and outer worlds. It doesn’t mean that I’ve magically had all my faults removed.

Far from it. I still have all the same laziness, lust, greed, arrogance, fear, and on and on. But the difference is that now there’s something Else present in addition to all those things. I’m able to witness, to observe those aspects from a place that both acknowledges their reality and their impermanence.

Very slowly, my sense of identity is moving into that place, where "I" am the awareness of the stuff that comes and goes, but ultimately, I’m not the stuff that comes and goes. My personality is finite and impermanent, but my awareness does not have to be finite and impermanent. Songwriting is one way I can move into that witness, one way I can observe the qualities without clutching them. The old baggage is still there, but my relationship to it is changing. My relationship to everything is changing, including how I approach giving concerts.

Live from Buddhakhan….

Because I can get stressed out before a show, I often hide in the green room (when there is one) and meditate or repeat a mantra before I go on. On one tour I started repeating the words to a song I had recently written like they were a mantra:

stretch this thread into Your loom
pick this rose to scent Your room
boil this leaf to make Your tea
boil me
mold the bones that form this face
break the dam that holds Your grace
burn a wick so Light can be
burn me

The message was simply offering all parts of my self in hopes that God would reinvent them. It worked. It worked a little too well. Because when I did go onstage, I found myself no longer able to automatically slip into my "entertainer" stage persona, and if I did, another part of me was observing it for what it really was: vanity.

From this new perspective, I could see how my ego craved to get up and be the center of attention, and how shows could often just be a vehicle for the gratification of ‘me! me! me!’. As the tour went on, I started to become less and less fulfilled by doing shows where I was mostly being smart, witty, shocking, or entertaining. I needed something more out of it.

A tension formed between my inner world, where I had been seeking closeness with Spirit, and my outer world, where I was still the outrageous performer. I was writing tender songs about God in private, and then doing shows where I would fall right into my old routines of being the guy with the big brain and crazy antics. I began feeling untrue, being touched by Spirit in meditation and writing, and then getting on stage and forgetting all about it. I was trying to have my metaphysical cake and eat it too. But those tidy compartments were starting to merge, and boy did my ego piss and moan when it realized that its free ride was about to end.

Over one hundred times a year for seven years I have gathered with strangers who offer their attention for over an hour. Only now have I started consciously asking, what do I want to do with that attention?

For much of my performing life my ego has soaked it up like the sponge that it is. But, just as meditation has taught me that sometimes my job as a songwriter is to create a space, and not to fill one, it has also shown me that my role as a performing artist includes putting people’s focus on things beyond just the performance. Nothing else can be the center of attention as long as my personality is inflated like a big balloon on stage. But if I deflate it from time to time, some beautiful surprises can then arise.

There is a place for both actually, the balloon of my personality and the space for something more. Both can be part of the same evening. It isn’t a matter of either/or, the ego vs. the soul, it’s more about knowing how to coordinate them so that they work together.

And they can work in harmony. In fact, ego is actually an asset in increasing the depth of a show. It can be crucial set-up tool. For instance, I use entertaining or accessible material as breathing space between songs with deeper messages, so that the evening keeps moving through different layers. And I often find humor to be an ally when sneaking into a delicate subject.

Knowing how to pace this dance, where personality grabs people’s attention and then steps aside to make space for something greater, is a skill I’m still learning. Of course, sometimes it’s impossible to get beyond the surface, but that’s almost always because everyone in the audience is drunk. Then I either stay on the surface or annoy the hell out of a hundred drunks with songs about spiritual intimacy. Trust me, that can be dangerous in some parts of America.

Even when an audience is amenable to going deeper, it’s still the hardest part of my practice to resist playing on the surface where there’s an easy pay off for just being entertaining. It’s tough to surrender the show to the Heart when it’s so safe and fun to stay in the brain. But frolicking in the brain all night gives me a metaphysical hangover after the show, and those are even harder to deal with than surrender is.

Luckily, if I say a mantra long enough, it keeps going even when I’m not trying to repeat it, and that reminds me during a show that I should be steering things toward the Heart from time to time. One thing is for sure: if I don’t surrender and open up, the audience won’t either.

Being a performer is like being a tuning fork. I try to get people to vibrate at the same frequency for a while. When I’m able to become totally un-self conscious playing certain songs, the audience sometimes opens up in similar ways. People’s boundaries will drop from time to time during a show, without them even realizing it’s happening.

The best part of giving concerts is simply being in a room when this happens, and right out of nowhere (again!) a bunch of strangers suddenly all forget their "selves" and fall into a shared, contemplative stillness. It doesn’t happen all that often, but often enough to keep me waiting for the next time.

That’s what I always wanted church to be like; unacquainted people letting down their walls and connecting through what is common to them all- Spirit. Concerts are another kind of church, a setting that encourages raising the consciousness of a group of people through inner and outer activity. A perfect blend of the exoteric and esoteric.

While I know that greater awareness is available to me all times, the reality is that I’m only able tap into it intermittently. My hope is to find ‘on’ more often and have ‘off’ become more infrequent. I also realize that the way meditation has changed my songwriting and performing is really just a happy byproduct of the real blessing, which is being more aware of Spirit. The Heart is the gem, and art is the play of Light shining through it.

On tour a few weeks before I wrote this, I was meditating before a show. I had a very strong notion pop out of nowhere that said I should change the way I perform one of my new songs, Infinity Hymn. Typically I play it like I do all my other songs, just me and my guitar. But this impulse said to change it so the audience had the most important role.

The song uses a single note to represent the presence of Unity throughout all manifest and unmanifest reality. Normally, I sing a verse, then sum up its message by simply humming one note, the note that stands for God. But instead, on that night, I changed it so the audience and I sang together after every verse, so that each of us were in the role of God. With a couple hundred voices humming the same note in one room, I was reminded how each of us really is God, that our essence is that unifying hum from which all else issues.

Every atom plays the hymn
every echo is from within
every eardrum makes a map
and it sounds like this when one hand claps:

(audience hums the note in unison- hmmmmmmmm)

* * * *
Stuart is a performing songwriter with international recognition and ten albums to his credit, including Bright Apocalypse, Kid Mystic, Nomen est Numen, and 16 Nudes. He tours extensively, doing more than 100 shows each year. (www.stuartdavis.com)

If you would like to purchase the Radical Spirit book from which this essay was drawn, please email us at manage@IntegrativeSpirituality.org and we will email you back details.

About every two weeks we will post another article on generation X spirituality from the book Radical Spirit.. For more articles, more about our (r)evolutionary spirituality and who we are, go to www.integrativespirituality.org .

- Written by Stuart Davis; contributed by Arthur Gillard. Originally posted on www.integrativespirituality.org

see also:
Toning
Chanting

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Jacques Vallee's Integral Approach to UFO Phenomena

2008-01-18T14:43:00.000-08:00

While looking into an upcoming remote viewing conference for possible WIE coverage, I was excited out of my head to learn that my hero since I was about 14, the one and only Jacques Vallée, was giving the keynote address! For those who aren’t up to speed on the field of ufology, Vallée is probably the world’s most highly respected UFO researcher, having pioneered the first empirical studies of the phenomenon in the 1960s as well as casting the first truly integral lens on the subject. In an interview conducted by ufologist Jerome Clark for Fate magazine in 1978 (who aptly described Vallée as ufology’s “most original thinker”), Vallée proposed that the UFO phenomenon needed to be studied across three broad areas:

I don’t think there is such a thing as “the flying saucer phenomenon.” I think it has three components and we have to deal with them in different ways.

First, there is a physical object. That may be a flying saucer or it may be a projection or it may be something entirely different. All we know about it is that it represents a tremendous quantity of electromagnetic energy in a small volume. I say that based upon the evidence gathered from traces, from electromagnetic and radar detection and from perturbations of the electromagnetic fields such as Dr. Claude Poher, the French space scientist, has recorded.

Second, there’s the phenomenon the witnesses perceive. What they tell us is that they’ve seen a flying saucer. Now they may have seen that or they may have seen an image of a flying saucer or they may have hallucinated it under the influence of microwave radiation, or any of a number of things may have happened. The fact is that the witnesses were exposed to an event and as a result they experienced a highly complex alteration of perception which caused them to describe the object or objects that figure in their testimony.

Beyond those — the physical phenomenon and the perception phenomenon — we have the third component, the social phenomenon. That’s what happens when the reports are submitted to society and enter the cultural arena. That’s the part which I find most interesting.

Now, for those familiar with integral theory, what Vallee is hitting on here are simply the “Four Quadrants” of reality, or what philosopher Ken Wilber typically simplifies as Plato’s Big Three — the three fundamental, interlocking dimensions of reality that need to be taken into account when we look at any person, place, thing, or event (including close encounters, of any kind). These three dimensions are variously described as:

I, We, and It.

The Beautiful, the Good, and the True.

Art, Morals, and Science.

Self, Culture, and Nature.

Subjective reality, Intersubjective reality, and Objective reality.

In the tagline for What Is Enlightenment? magazine, we call the Big Three: Consciousness. Culture. Cosmos.

According to integral philosophy, any inquiry that fails to take all three of these dimensions into account cannot be considered complete, whole, or “integral.” I suspected a decade ago — when I first started getting into Ken Wilber’s work — that Vallee was an integral thinker way ahead of his time. And a couple of years ago, when I saw his precise breakdown of the UFO phenomenon into those three integral categories, that confirmed it for me beyond a doubt.

I hope to have the opportunity to interview him someday (even though I always have to stretch to find a way to mention UFOs in WIE :), but in the meantime, Coast to Coast AM’s George Noory seems to have done a good job of it last Monday, when Vallee made what’s probably his first radio appearance in years (and the first I’ve ever heard). If you have a Coast to Coast subscription, you can download the mp3s here (or pay the $6.95/mo. if you don’t have a sub). Or you can go the cheaper route and listen to the interview, in twelve parts, on YouTube. Part 3 is particularly good, giving a clear overview of why Vallee has strongly felt, since the late 60s, that UFOs can’t possibly be merely ET spaceships come to probe us all…

Like any good integral, evolutionary thinker, Vallée is convinced that how we perceive and interpret the flying saucer phenomenon — whatever its true origins might be — is highly skewed by the cultural, social, and historical context in which we experience it. The biblical prophet Ezekiel saw metallic “wheels” in the sky and was abducted by four-faced cherubim; the 17th-century Scottish folklorist Rev. Robert Kirk went around recording tales of close encounters with elves, piskeys, fauns, and faeries (who, naturally, liked to abduct people and take them into their mysteriously illuminated fairy-homes); and in the 20th-century “space age,” we had no shortage of abductions by aliens in spaceships from Zeta Reticuli. Now, I personally suspect we’re probably dealing with interdimensional beings with steady-state access to the subtle realms, who have been working, over millennia, to subtly steer and provoke the evolution of human consciousness, as any good kosmocentric beings would do (hey! stop laughing!). But I also think that contrary to popular convictions, nobody really knows what the hell they are.

My biological father, Don Dixon, recently posted about his own encounters with UFOs on his Flatfile blog. He remains skeptical about the reality of the phenomenon, but in my UFO obsessive teenage years (when I spent my weekends photocopying old flying saucer newspaper articles at the Seattle Public Library, or filing FOIA requests for declassified UFO documents from the NSA [yes, the FBI now has a file with my name on it]), I tried to persuade him to at least consider the evidence. To be sure, there’s a hell of a lot of it to consider…

And the truth, as always, is out there. :)

_____

Contributed by Tom Huston; originally posted on his Kosmic Tom blog on September 27, 2007.

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Blind Compassion

2008-01-08T13:12:00.000-08:00

I have been working to understand compassion and learn how to apply it in my work and life for the past several years. Recently, however, I’ve been looking at compassion from a different perspective. When does compassion not really look like compassion - or how we have been led to believe compassion should look? When is it more compassionate to be fierce? To say no? To hold another accountable for their actions? And how can we use true compassion to effectively serve another?

As a homeless shelter manager, I am called to make decisions every day that test my understanding of genuine compassion. It's been a learning experience over these past two years. The first time I needed to hold someone truly accountable for their behavior, it tore me apart. I needed to call the police on a couple who was causing such chaos in the shelter that they were taking the house down. Everyone wanted them out and we were in a one-room warehouse at the time. It was COLD outside - like really cold! And, I liked them. I, of course, worked with them every which way I could think of to calm them down so everyone could sleep. When nothing worked and they wouldn't leave on their own accord, I called the police to escort them out. As they left, the woman looked at me and said 'I curse you. Our lives are in your hands.' Geez! After they left, I went in the back alley and cried. When I got home that night, I did prayer ceremonies for them both. That was two years ago. I think it took them a few months to get over it and since then our paths have crossed frequently through the street outreach work I do and all is quite well between us.

Idiot (or blind) compassion is a term that was introduced by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche and refers to the tendency of spiritual practitioners to give people what they want as opposed to what they need, all in the name of being nice and compassionate. In an effort to maintain harmony, one takes the limited view of what the ego wants versus what the soul actually needs to grow.

Idiot compassion is the highly conceptualized idea that you want to do good to somebody. At this point, good is purely related with pleasure. Idiot compassion also stems from not have enough courage to say no. -Chogyam Trungpa

Robert Augustus Masters defines blind compassion* as "neurotically tolerant, confrontation-phobic, indiscriminating caring."

Blind compassion is commonly centered by the belief that everyone is doing the best they can. Not surprisingly, blind compassion cuts everyone - everyone - far too much slack, making an ever-so-gentle fuss about not making a fuss regarding behavioral lapse it is taking pains to so kindly address.

… Very rarely does blind compassion show any anger, for it's scared to upset anyone. This is reinforced by its negative conceptualizing of anger, especially in its more fiery expression, as something less than spiritual, something equated with ill will, hostility, and aggression, something that should not be there if we are being truly loving. Blind compassion has the mistaken notion that compassion has to be gentle.

Blind compassion has no voice, other than that of making nice and making excuses; its articulation is relentlessly soft and pleasant, brightly buttoned-up. No guts. Being a harmony junkie, blind compassion will do just about anything to keep the peace, so long as it doesn't have to show its teeth in anything other than I-wouldn't-harm-a-fly smiles.

… When those who espouse blind compassion encounter offensive behavior from others, they usually take pains to not only be nonjudgmental (or at least not to say or do anything that could be construed as judgmental), but also to examine whatever such behavior may be triggering in them, while bringing no significant heat to those who are actually behaving offensively. That is, if what you are doing is upsetting me, my job (as a graduate of Blind Compassion 101) is not to focus to any significant degree on your behavior, but rather to find out what my being bothered says about me, while perhaps also acknowledging and appreciating the opportunity you are giving me to examine myself.

This is not only a misguided reading of the art of allowing all things to serve our awakening, but also a far-from-compassionate response to our offending others, for we, in not being on the side of doing what we can to bring them face to face with the consequences of their actions, are on the side of depriving them of something they may sorely need. And in letting them off the hook, we are doing the same for ourselves.

Masters suggests that to effectively deal with blind compassion that we get familiar with it. "Don't get pulled into its embrace. See it, name it, don't blame it. Meet it and its underlying fear with genuine compassion, compassion that's willing to be fiery, fierce, unsmiling, compassion that is loving enough not to give a damn about being nice. As blind compassion sheds its masks, and opens its eyes to its own pain, its own anger and hurt and frustration and moral outrage, thereby letting in a love previously not accessible, it loses its blind nature, and simply becomes compassion, with an especially keen eye for those who are still under the spell of blind compassion."

One of the greatest leaps in my understanding of genuine compassion is that if you are truly centered in love and are coming from the place of compassion, then if it is called for to be fierce, to hold others accountable for their actions, or to make hard decisions - that they will receive this well. They may be angry in the moment, but it will pass. I believe that when you come from the place of blind compassion, you are (in a way) demeaning the other person - holding them in a vision that is less than what they are capable of…asking too little.

In working with the practice of genuine compassion, a number of questions arise for me:

Can I handle people getting mad at me because I'm not playing to their ego-centered desires - what they want versus what they need?
Can I get over potential disapproval or judgment when others view me as unkind, unsympathetic, or even cold?
Do I have enough awareness of my own shadow tendencies to have clarity on what is a genuine compassionate response and what's not?
How can I remain centered in the space of absolute compassion and love while still holding others responsible for their actions, choices, etc.?
How comfortable am I in the presence of another’s pain and suffering?
How can I effectively navigate around my aversion to conflict?
How can I get over the idea that I am causing another harm (or potentially causing harm) when I hold them accountable for their choices? How can I shift my thinking from the short-term view to an eternal perspective?

___________________

*In the original essay from which Robert Augustus Masters is quoted (see his November 2006 newsletter), he used the term “idiot compassion;” however, at his suggestion we have used the less pejorative term “blind compassion” as reflected in an updated version of the essay included in his new book Transformation Through Intimacy.

-Contributed by Jayne Sorrels, Executive Director of an interfaith homeless shelter in Boise, Idaho and Director/Founder of the Viriditas Center, an ecumenical center for Contemplative Christianity committed to supporting individuals pursuing an integrated path of contemplation and engaged compassion.

see also I-Thou: Twenty-Four Hour Lament

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Suicide Dictionary: Illumination Experience

2008-01-04T18:24:00.000-08:00

Announcing the Genesis of an Integral TransMission
with the completion of Sonnet A

A prayer and call for the world to open a more passionate interreligious discourse, Sonnet A points to the reunion of feminine and masculine modes of Love as an essential starting ground. We see not two angels here, but a perfect singularity of opposites, ascending and descending on wings that unfold along spectrums of distinctions.

Shift perspectives with this first in a series of 50 artworks to be created in collaboration with integral poet, Paul Lonely. Like the steel of a blade being folded many times, each release will transcend previous works in the series, but will include select elements of all, producing a body of unforgettable, highly collectible integral spiritual art.

Tangible angels we are One and All,
Under and over and inside the flesh;—
There is no frontier for World-centric to draw,
If truly world-centric the angel has meshed.

A Stupa was built on the sands of Iran,
Each native said prayers and accepted its worth;
They all remained Muslim and nothing was gone,
But added to Islam was Buddhism's birth.

Allah as a Baby was from Jewish men,
Which leaked to Muhammad who Journeyed at Night;
The Prophet was tested but mastered zazen,
And now simply twirls as a Dervish in white.

A relic of Buddha in Mecca will stand,
When Islamic integrals...open this Land.

A Creation of Suicide Dictionary:Illumination Experience, LLC
Susceptible to Radical Transformation

For more information on this work see 10 Questions with Paul Lonely.

Contributed by Todd Guess.

Dream Yoga

2007-12-30T11:11:00.000-08:00

by Arthur Gillard

When the state of dreaming has dawned,
Do not lie in ignorance like a corpse.
Enter the natural sphere of unwavering attention.
Recognize your dreams and transform illusion into luminosity.
Do not sleep like an animal.
Do the practice which mixes sleep and reality.
-Dream Yoga and the Practice of the Natural Light, p. 36

Lucid dreaming is a universal human ability with great applicability in spiritual practices. Dream yoga has been practiced in some Tibetan Buddhist lineages for many centuries, and in various forms has been a part of other spiritual traditions as well. As with the western approach to this practice, the two basic approaches to cultivate conscious or lucid dreaming on the dream yoga path are 1) falling asleep consciously; and 2) waking up within the dream state. However, in the Buddhist dream yoga approach, lucid dreaming is always placed securely in the context of a spiritually transformative path; it is not experience per se which is valued, but the depth of consciousness realized by the practitioner.

In the Buddhist view there are three types of dreams:
1) ordinary samsaric dreams – these arise from personal karmic traces;
2) dreams of clarity – these arise from transpersonal karmic traces;
3) clear light dreams – experiences of nonduality.

The first two categories may be lucid or non-lucid; the third type is intrinsically lucid and beyond subject/object duality but is the most difficult to attain, becoming more common as one advances on the spiritual path.

Dream yoga offers many benefits. Chief among these is considered preparation for the dying process and the ability to navigate in the after-death bardo; as the Dalai lama notes, “a person well trained...can recognize a strict order in the four states of falling asleep, and is well prepared to ascertain an analogous order in the dying process.” It is believed that if you are solidly grounded in lucid dreaming, you will be able to exercise control in the bardo realm and use it as an opportunity to choose a favorable rebirth or even attain enlightenment.

Dreams can inspire and motivate you, indicate your degree of progress on the spiritual path, and reveal where you need to do further work. Training in lucid dreaming enables you to take advantage of the freedom from the normal constraints of physical reality and use that freedom in the service of spiritual transformation. The dreamer may seek teaching from enlightened masters and travel to other realms of being - indeed, many of the practices done by Tibetans for centuries have their origin in dreams, such teachings being referred to as “mind treasures” or “dream treasures.”

Intention is of paramount importance – the practitioner formulates and reinforces the intention to wake up in a dream, and as the process unfolds, gradually creates and strengthens a “special dream body” which is formed from the mind and prana (vital energy) within the physical body. The intention is reinforced until it permeates your dreaming mind; one way to do this is to firmly think to yourself, as frequently as possible, “tonight I will realize I am dreaming.” Another technique involves seeing the dreamlike nature of all things while you are awake; eventually this carries over into the dream state, and you will begin to awaken within dreams. As you spend more time dreaming lucidly, the special dream body becomes more stable, growing like a thought form in a self-reinforcing process; and as this unfolds, the practitioner will be increasingly able to separate from the physical and travel elsewhere.

In lineages which teach dream yoga, many specific practices are given to initiates. However, once established in lucid dreaming, a powerful introductory exercise for the solitary practitioner is to visualize Chenrezi (the embodiment of compassion) during dreams and recite the associated mantra OM MANI PADME HUM. Many images of Chenrezi are available on the web – and of course one could also adapt this type of exercise to their own path by visualizing another bodhisattva such as Tara, or any other inspiring spiritual figure, and saying an appropriate mantra or prayer.

Exercise: Falling asleep consciously (from Living, Dreaming, Dying p. 46)

On a night when you are not so tired that you are likely to fall asleep immediately and your belly is not drum tight with food and drink, lie in bed and relax.

Focus on the flow of images and impressions that come to you as you relax with your eyes closed.

You may find yourself looking at a succession of faces that change as soon as they take form. You may see a series of childlike drawings or photographs, falling as fast as autumn leaves in a high wind.

When you see something that catches your fancy – a face, a scene, a picture barely formed – try to hold it in focus. If you can, hold your attention on the image...follow it into a full-fledged dream, while retaining awareness that you are dreaming.

References

1. Namkhai Norbu, Dream Yoga and the Practice of the Natural Light (Ithaca: Snow Lion Publications, 2002)

2. Surya Das, Tibetan Dream Yoga: A Complete System for Becoming Conscious in Your Dreams [cd set](Boulder: Sounds True, 2000)

3. Tenzin Wangyal, Tibetan Yogas of Dream and Sleep (Ithaca: Snow Lion Publications, 1998)

4. Dalai Lama XIV, Sleeping, Dreaming, and Dying: an Exploration of Consciousness with the Dalai Lama (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1997)

5. Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying: Revised and Updated (New York: HarperCollins, 2002)

6. Rob Nairn, Living, Dreaming, Dying: Wisdom for Everyday Life from the Tibetan Book of the Dead (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 2004)

7. Malcolm Godwin, The Lucid Dreamer: A Waking Guide for the Traveler Between Worlds (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1994)

8. Chang, Garma C.C. The Six Yogas of Naropa (Ithaca: Snow Lion Publications, 1963)

9. Richard Linklater (writer/director) Waking Life (movie, Twentieth Century Fox, 2001)

_____

This article was written and contributed by Arthur Gillard.

see also:
Lucid Dreaming
Lucid Dreaming and Awakening: an Interview with Robert Augustus Masters
Dream Tripping: Dream Drugs as Metaphor

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Dream Tripping: Dream Drugs as Metaphor

2007-12-26T16:02:00.000-08:00

by Arthur Gillard

If someone takes a psychoactive drug while physically awake, it changes her brain chemistry and so alters her state of consciousness. Taking a drug in a dream is a very different proposition, however - in that realm a drug would actually be a metaphor for an intention to change your consciousness in a particular way, and as such is an interesting and useful technique for those who utilize state changes as part of a spiritual path (or just as a means of exploring the possibilities of their own mind). Ann Faraday discusses this type of “high dreaming” in her book Dream Power:

I had several high dreams during and after the period of my [legal] drug research, and the one I remember most vividly still remains somewhat of a mystery to me. In this dream, I found myself on a desert island with some friends when a storm blew up. As we stood and watched the lightning flash across the sky and the waves beating against the rocks, I thought, "I wish I had some acid now." My wish immediately became reality, and I reached a "high" in the dream. For a timeless moment, I danced, flashed, and roared with the storm and seemed to merge with the "being" at the center of it. On regaining normal consciousness in the dream, I turned to my friends and said, "You need acid to see the devil in the storm," and they nodded their comprehension. I woke up feeling exhilarated and joyful beyond belief, a feeling which remained with me for several days. Here again is evidence that the "high" state can be produced without drugs - in this case it was a mental image of LSD which succeeded in bringing about the ecstatic dream experience.

In contrast to Charles Tart's article on "high dreams" in Altered States of Consciousness, Faraday suggests that it may be possible to experience such a state in a dream without having experienced it first in waking life. Most of Tart's data comes from subjects who had participated in LSD research and subsequently had similar experiences in dreams. Faraday reports, however, that she experienced her first high dream long before her research with psychedelics. One fascinating aspect of this phenomenon mentioned by Tart is that some of the subjects experienced a continuation of the altered state for a few minutes after they woke up. Terence McKenna, who had extensive experience with psilocybin and DMT, mentioned in an interview that he has experienced "full-blown DMT experiences" after taking the substance in a dream, and that this experience sometimes persisted for a few moments after waking. It would be interesting to speculate on whether taking a drug in a dream is literally altering your brain chemistry, or even if naturally occurring psychedelics in the brain could be involved in the normal dreaming process. After all, it is known that a small amount of a psychedelic taken before going to sleep - an amount too small to produce a noticeable effect if taken while awake - will extend the period of REM dreaming. The Lucidity Institute Lucid Dreaming FAQ states, "Drugs in the LSD family, including psilocybin and tryptamines actually stimulate REM sleep (in doses small enough to allow sleep), leading to longer REM periods." They add, "we do not recommend the use of drugs without proper guidance nor do we urge the breaking of laws," an important qualification with which I fully agree.

Regardless of the possible role of endogenous psychedelics in "normal" brain chemistry and natural altered states such as dreaming, it may be worthwhile to experiment with "dream drugs" as a metaphor for intended alterations of consciousness - that is, to deliberately steer the dreaming mind in a particular direction. Obviously, if one has experienced the effect of a particular drug while awake - be it LSD, alcohol, ecstasy, marijuana or whatever - it would be possible to compare the states produced in the dream and those produced while awake. However, even if one has never experienced a given drug in waking life, knowing what the effects of the drug are said to be may be sufficient to produce a useful altered state in the dream environment. A.S. Kay, in the article "Psychedelics and Lucid Dreaming: Doorways in the Mind," mentions a dreamer's experience of taking MDMA [ecstasy] in a dream, then notes, "The dreamer had...not yet taken MDMA in waking life. Shortly after this dream he did try it and found the experience to be very similar." Kay points out the rich array of possibilities open to someone who chooses this line of experimentation:

A particularly "psychedelic" way of programming your choice is to decide which dream drug to take in a lucid state. If you take dream-MDMA you will have a heart-level bonding experience, which can be used to clear negative patterns with parents, lovers or friends, or to enhance awareness of the perfection of your self, and every other person. If you take dream-LSD you can more easily tune into the unconscious realms and the spiritual channels, etc. You might even try creating your own brand of psychedelic, with attributes of your fancy. If you are really daring, take a totally unknown drug, and let it take you where it will. Everything you learn will mirror your mind! You will reach totally new and uncharted lands, which are yet somehow familiar!

Speculative and science fiction stories also offer good ideas for compounding your dream drug...time warpers would be drugs that dilate or contract time, or allow time travel to past and future lives. Or take a stripper drug that peels away layer after layer of whatever you see/feel to reveal its deeper essence - then dream a mirror and fall into your core! Or design a transference drug that allows you to be fully in another's mind, or in an alien consciousness. Of course there are all manner of telepathy-enhancing drugs you could conjure, as well as dream tripmates to play with. The list is an endless as your fantasy world, and as deep as your calling.

No matter how you feel about using psychedelic or other drugs while physically awake, you may find it worthwhile to experiment with their metaphorical analogs in dreams. In dreamland you don't have to worry about breaking the law, nor about the possible purity or even identity of black market drugs. You need not worry about the safety of your physical body. And in the fluid state of dreams, you may be able to go much deeper into a state than you would during an analogous experience initiated in consensus reality. As John Lilly aptly noted, "In the province of the mind, there are no limits."

Exercise: Taking a dream drug

If you have developed the ability to dream lucidly, choose to take a drug in a lucid dream. A simple way to find such a drug – or anything else you need – in a lucid dream is to reach into your pocket and know that it will be there (trust me, this works). [If you have not yet developed lucid dreaming ability but wish to do so, see the article Lucid Dreaming on this blog.] An alternative approach would be to use dream incubation techniques to create the intention of taking a particular drug in your dreams. The simplest way to accomplish this would be to firmly repeat the intention to yourself just before you go to bed, or as you are falling asleep – e.g. “Tonight I will take LSD.”

References

The first four references are resources which provide a rich source of information on the effects of drugs, which can be used as inspiration for “dream drugs.”

1. Erowid has a vast library of detailed information on every mind-altering drug imaginable, as well as thousands of user reports.

2. Alexander Shulgin & Ann Shulgin, Pihkal: A Chemical Love Story (Berkeley: Transform Press, 1995).

3. Alexander Shulgin & Ann Shulgin, Tihkal: The Continuation (Berkeley: Transform Press, 1997).

4. D.M. Turner, The Essential Psychedelic Guide (San Francisco: Panther Press, 1994) [Now available online.]

5. Ann Faraday, Dream Power (New York: HaperCollins 1980).

6. A.S. Kay, Psychedelics and Lucid Dreaming: Doorways in the Mind, Psychedelic Monographs and Essays, Issue 3: Dec. 1987. [Available online here.]

7. Charles Tart, Altered States of Consciousness (New York: HarperCollins 1990).

8. The Lucidity Institute Lucid Dreaming FAQ is available here.

_____

This article was written and contributed by Arthur Gillard.

see also:
Lucid Dreaming
Lucid Dreaming and Awakening: an Interview with Robert Augustus Masters
Dream Yoga

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Lucid Dreaming and Awakening: an Interview with Robert Augustus Masters

2007-12-15T07:23:00.000-08:00

Robert Augustus Masters lives and works near Vancouver, British Columbia. He specializes in cutting-edge integral psychotherapy, counseling, spiritual deepening, and awakening work. Robert describes himself as increasingly finding freedom less through transcendence than through intimacy with all that is, a perspective which illuminates his deeply transformative workshops and therapy sessions. Some of his recent books include Darkness Shining Wild: An Odyssey to the Heart of Hell and Beyond: Meditations on Sanity, Suffering, Spirituality, & Liberation; Freedom Doesn't Mind Its Chains: Revisioning Sex, Body, Emotion, & Spirituality; and his latest, Transformation Through Intimacy: The Journey Towards Mature Monogamy.

Arthur Gillard: Do you remember your first lucid dream? How old were you?

Robert Augustus Masters: I don't remember what was probably my first lucid dream – in large part because in my early years I had trouble separating waking state and dreaming state phenomena – but I do remember becoming lucid during two types of dreams that started when I was about 5 or 6. In the first, I would find myself at the top of a tree or standing at the edge of a cliff….I'd leap off, feeling ecstatic, totally unafraid of hitting the ground below (which invariably received me the way that a pillow receives a weary head).

The other type of dream in which I'd become lucid was far from pleasant: In it, I'd be in my bed, tucked under the covers, feeling a strange chill in the air (and here I would become lucid), a grey-lit iciness that was very familiar – for I had this dream hundreds of times – and into the room would come my mother, initially looking like herself, but soon mutating into a hideous, malevolent creature bearing down on me, trying to tear the covers from me, at which point I, in heart-thumping terror, would wake up. The fact that I was lucid did not seem to make any difference; I felt consistently powerless. Not until I was 8 or 9 did I free myself from this lucid nightmare: One night, as my monster-mother drew near me, I got up and attacked her; she fought back, but I persisted, and she faded into the background. It was the last time I had the dream.

Arthur: Has the nature of your dreams changed over time?

Robert: My dreams have changed as I have changed, and I have changed as my dreams have changed. My dreaming self and my waking state self have been, and are, inseparable. Looking at, into, and through what's arising with undreaming eyes, whether waking or asleep, continues to be both grace and a discipline; the actual process of selfing (that is, of animating, occupying, and reconstituting “me”) has been and is an object of awareness, however infrequently, both in dreaming and waking states.

During times of intense dream exploration, I have had an abundance of deep and amazing dreams. When I became interested in lucid dreaming as a young adult (23 or so), such dreams arrived quite often; for a while, I'd exploit their possibilities, but eventually I tired of such adventuring, and more often than not simply let them go their own course. Sometimes dreams have arrived that have dramatically altered my life course. For example, when I was 22, unhappily immersed in a doctoral program that didn't really interest me, I had a dream of drowning – a deeply surrendered, blissful drowning – that led me to, in a matter of just a few hours, to leave my doctoral studies for good.

Mirror dreams come to mind… As a child, I had a recurring dream of looking into a mirror and seeing my reflection slide and eddy into freakish contortions. The face I'd see looked terrified, its horror eloquently expressed with bizarre flourishes borrowed from whatever had most recently frightened me, be it an ad for a Frankenstein movie or the witch scene from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”. I knew what was going to happen before I stared into the mirror, and yet I always looked. The mirror, usually outlined with a compelling brilliance, dominated whatever room in which I found it. Only in these dreams did I truly face my fear; in the daytime I did whatever I could to avoid it.

I had no such dreams (as far as I can recall) as an adolescent, but had further variations of them arise once I got a bit older. When I was 22, I had the following dream: I'm at a party, moving from room to room, socializing. Someone offers me some LSD; without any hesitation, I take it. Soon the party is blazing with hypervivid colour, crawling with archetypes, seemingly bursting with untranslatable significance. The walls melt and writhe. An acid trip. Finally, I move or am moved toward the bathroom. The ten-foot journey is as hilarious as it's weird; before I complete it, I realize that I am dreaming. My experiencing seems to be concentric rather than sequential. The bathroom. As I close the door, I feel very excited and almost painfully alert. There's a mirror on the wall. I immediately recall my childhood dreams of looking into a mirror. The mirror beckons, widening. Looking into it, I see my wide-eyed reflection. Its features wriggle and shift into a series of faces, some of them incredibly hideous and far from human. But I'm not afraid, for I know that these visions are LSD-induced. I continue looking, as my ancient fears parade by, showing their faces. I relax, settling more and more deeply into my seeing.

Three years later, I had another mirror dream: I'm in a dimly lit house, feeling very uncomfortable. The mood is both sluggish and sinister. I go into my room, and lock the door, then enter its bathroom, and look into the mirror over the sink. My eyes seem to be extraordinarily close together; in fact, there's no gap between them. I realize that I am dreaming. In the mirror there is one large eye, between and slightly above the place where my eyes ordinarily are. Dread and fascination fill me. The eye is a glowing blue, unblinking, unwavering, and of immense though unexplainable significance to me. I feel as though I'm drowning in its gaze, which I very dimly intuit is my gaze. I force myself to look below the eye, at the smooth pink flesh where my everyday eyes ought to be. For a while I see only skin. Then, as if through a poorly focused lens, I see my two eyes. They are firmly and tightly closed. I leave the bathroom. My room is too small. I decide to leave the dream, and it immediately shatters.

It took me a while to understand why my lucidity in the dream had not lightened or freed me. Though I'd become aware of the overall dream, I had been utterly unaware that the self (“me”) of the dream was also part of the dream. My identification with that fearful, isolated “I” kept me feeling afraid and isolated. My lucidity in the dream had been like a vast moat, surrounding but not touching the role I had assumed in the dream. The mirror gave me an opportunity to see what I was doing; the eye in the mirror was an “I” that saw through me. When I finally noticed my two “regular” eyes in the mirror, I saw only skin-deep, not seeing that I was asleep to my situation.

Here's another mirror dream, from when I was 48: Becoming aware that I'm dreaming, I leap up to fly, but fall back, twice. Then I surrender, inwardly asking to be taken where I most need to go. I'm in the air, a few feet above some pavement. Suddenly I'm pulled backward and downward at a tremendous speed, my body almost totally vanishing during my “flight.” I land in an underground, poorly lit room. Its walls are all floor-to-ceiling mirrors, all equally sized and all bizarrely distorting my reflection. Though fairly large, the room feels quite compressed. I'm in the middle, afraid but not panicked.

Slowly, I walk toward one wall, seeing all sorts of mirrored “fragments” of myself. A dark, eerie, heavy feeling saturates the room. Everything is sickeningly greyish. I gaze into my reflection's eyes, seeing less of the hallucinatory than I expected. Then I walk into and through the mirror, finding myself in an even more compressive space. It's extremely uncomfortable; if I wasn't still aware that it was a dream, I would surely escape as quickly as possible.

No exit in sight, though - just claustrophobic greys, amorphous and hideously alive. I keep moving, as if through jelly - fatly quivering, ever denser protoplasm - existing both as a dreambody and a disembodied observer. Finally, I can barely move.

In despair and helplessness, I drop down on my knees, crying and wordlessly praying, aching for release. As the observer, I see my eyes turned up, my hands in prayer position in front of my chest, my face deathly pale. Surrender. Suddenly, I am vaulted into another world, vaguely sensing that I am in a hospital, watching a group of doctors tending a covered-up patient. A series of events transpire [which I cannot recall], ending in joy.

In many lucid dreams, I have moved or have been pulled toward places of luminosity, often dissolving in their radiance. Sometimes, though, I have gone in the “opposite” direction, going deep into the Earth, into mineral and dense dark. In the preceding dream, I'm being pulled below the surface. Let's permit the image of being in the grey, underground room to unfold itself, to “speak”:

When underground, I don't appear to myself as I usually am. When I see myself reflected all around, I don't appear to be myself.

Wherever I look, I see my reflection, so long as I remain in the centre of the room. Though there is a lack of illumination when I am underground looking at myself, there is enough light to see. The ceiling and floor are the same; above and below are the same underground. I am mirrored from all around when I am below the surface.

My surface appearance is broken into many components when I am below the surface. When I remain in the middle, I can see, but am distant from what I see. Wherever I turn, there I am.

When I leave the middle, thereby decentralizing the space, I can more clearly see particular reflections. When I no longer occupy the centre, I can pass through what I am looking at. Stepping through one self-image puts me behind them all, and this happens when I am below the surface, and am willing to “face” myself, however unpleasant that might be. When I remain in the centre, when I am the centre, I am encircled by what I fear.

[Note: I have no explanatory summary for all of the above - its insights are intrinsic to its totality as an image. It speaks not of one meaning for me, but of many, from prenatal to transpersonal, each of which could be mined for more significance.]

Once “I” am through the mirror, things get worse - but did I not ask to be taken where I most needed to go? Only when I am “decentralized,” down on my knees, no longer fighting my helplessness, does “release” occur. I haven't so much given up - submission being but a kind of collapse - as surrendered (surrender being more expansion than collapse), opening to a sacrifice of self that's anathema to the usual me.

Arthur: What do you see as the nature of dreams - are they models of reality constructed by a brain unconstrained by sensory input and interaction with the environment? Are they visits to a subtle energy realm or astral plane? What do you think of the view, held by some spiritual traditions, that the dreaming process is similar to what we experience when we die?

Robert: What a question! To me, dreams are the mind's contents made visible through three-dimensional story-like formats while the body sleeps. Psychoemotional theater fleshed out and broadcast by the mind, constellated around and expressive of certain feelings, urges, intentions, pulls. Self-made, self-starring, self-revealing private motion pictures. The original home movies, usually forgotten before they're really seen.

Like movies, dreams range from the banal to the sublime. Some films can open us to unsuspected or dormant dimensions of ourselves; so too with some dreams. There are movies that can make us look deeply at ourselves while we watch (and also indirectly participate in) them, just as there are dreams that serve the same awakening function. Dreams may just be internal noise (like most of the thoughts we have, or that have us, while “awake”), and they may also be profoundly relevant harbingers of needed changes. Dreams can simply be hangovers from the previous day's activities (both outer and inner), no more meaningful than the random thoughts creating mini-logjams behind your forehead on a busy day, and they can also be doorways into unimaginable vistas of being, portals to and from What-Really-Matters.

Dreams don't so much tell us about ourselves, as they are our selves (our multi-selved selfhood), all dressed-up for the part; various aspects, dimensions, qualities, elements, and action tendencies that constitute us intersect and interact with each other, as if they are in fact discrete entities/things independent of each other. We ordinarily identify with one of these, dreaming that we are indeed that. This is true not only of everyday dreams, but also of most lucid dreams.

Prior to truly awakening, we are simply dreaming (including dreaming that we are not dreaming), whether physically awake or not. This, however, does not mean that dreams are not real; they are just as real as the self-sense about which they are arranged. A dream is a real mirage, just like us. The more real things get, the more dreamlike they seem.

A dream is a story (ranging from simple cartoon to complex myth) that we are telling ourselves, a story through which we are constructed and reconstituted. Becoming aware of the actual story doesn't necessarily end it, but rather simply allows us to participate in it in the best possible way.

Let's now go into more detail regarding body, self-sense, and dreaming. The sense of literally being inside our physicality can be extremely convincing. Not surprisingly, our dreams generally display much of the same sense of “within-ness.” In dreams, our waking-state body is perhaps most commonly represented - besides as itself - through the metaphors of dwelling-places and vehicles, with the dream's “I” (or what we might call the dream-ego) usually appearing more or less as a replica of our waking-state “I,” ordinarily located inside somewhere, whether in a long-ago living room or behind the wheel of a suddenly brakeless car.

In our dreams, our body is a perceptual convention, a bit of theater, as much a prop as anything else in the dreamscape. We could, while dreaming, view our dream-body as a metaphor, a choice, a creation, but instead we usually just identify with it in the very same way that we identify with our physical body in the so-called waking state.

“I,” now taking stage as the dream-ego, is still preoccupied with being at the helm of the body, while at the same time being lost in the dramatics of the dream, taking everything therein as real. While dreaming, we may engage in activities that would be impossible or extremely unlikely in the waking state, yet we - while dreaming - rarely see anything unusual in this. We look, but usually don't look inside our looking.

As in the waking state, all that will usually alert us - or snap us out of our trance - is some sort of crisis, a not-to-be-denied intensity of perceived danger, as perhaps best demonstrated by full-blown nightmares. We may awaken for a few moments within a nightmare, but ordinarily not so as to explore and make good use of it - rather, our common intention then is still to flee, to escape, to get back to sleep or at least into a more comfortable or secure circumstance.

Even in lucid dreaming we still generally take ourselves to be the “I” of the dream, regardless of “our” apparent freedom of choice. Much of the appeal of dream lucidity lies in the possibility of having more power and control in our dreams. Such power or control can be very useful when “fleshing out” the intention to turn around to face a dream adversary or difficult situation we have been fleeing, but not so useful when it merely reinforces the dream-ego.

In fact, the very desire to be lucid during a dream, to be a somebody who can lucid-dream, creates the same difficulties as the desire to be awake during the so-called waking state, to be a somebody who can meditate or be aware.

The “I” who stars in or centres a lucid dream is actually just part of the dream, no more than a convincing personification (and embodiment) of the witnessing or self-reflective dimension of the dream. However, when the dreamer becomes the object of awareness in the midst of his or her dream, then the dream itself, at least in my experience, usually can no longer hold its form, and all its contents dissolve into unmappable, space-transcending Luminosity.

Short of such dissolution, there is usually some sense of embodiment in lucid dreaming (although there sometimes may be a sense of being a self without any body, existing as a point of attention in the dreamscape, a point that may or may not be personified).

For many years, I experimented with intentionality in lucid dreaming: jumping from great heights; flying far and wide; dissolving my body; suffering lethal injuries; traversing space instantaneously; diving deep into solid earth; passing through walls; letting my body be as malleable as plastic; meeting various spiritual teachers; having archetypal encounters; facing adversaries with violence, love, shapeshifting suddenness. Nevertheless, however unusual or thrilling my lucid dream-doings were, they were still mostly centreed by the very same sense of self around which my daily activities were generally organized.

After a while, it became more interesting to leave the dream alone, to simply abide in the midst of it, and see where it took me. Dreaming or waking, lucid or not, ecstatic or depressed, the work was basically the same, to simply be as present as possible, uncommitted to - and unidentified with - the intentions of any particular “I.” And what did this do to my dreambody? Freed it, at least to some extent, from what I “normally” took it to be, thereby permitting it to more fully be a medium for simply maintaining relationship with my environment.

Arthur: Do you see consciousness as continuing in some form in deep, dreamless sleep? Have you ever experienced lucidity in that state, and if so, what was it like?

Robert: Consciousness continues in deep, dreamless sleep, but without any form. No objects, no appearances, no self. In this state, we are almost always unconscious of being conscious. Nevertheless, we can be awake during deep, dreamless sleep, as various sages have taught. I've had direct experience of this, though it was not the “I” of everyday discourse. The phenomenology of this is without sensation, feeling, cognition, or any temporal or spatial sense, bearing no discernible characteristic other than that of unbound, featureless, effortlessly sentient presence. No-thing-ness.

Here is what I have experienced as the state of deep, dreamless sleep spontaneously metamorphosed into the state of dreaming sleep: First, out of nowhere and nothing, there arose colour and movement, without any discernible shape. Then vague forms began appearing, diaphanous and softly swirling, taking on a bit more solidity. When I - in the form of alert, undivided attention - “entered” this nebular fluxing of colour and shape-making, it almost immediately became more densely three-dimensional and vividly real in a conventionally sensory manner, literally taking on substance all around me, including as a dream-body closely resembling my physical body.

Arthur: What role have lucid dreams played in your spiritual life, or your life in general? Have you, for example, had insights or spiritual breakthroughs in dreams? Has a lucid dream ever anticipated developments in your consciousness or understanding which occurred later in your waking life? Have you had shifts in perspective or values as a result of lucid dreaming?

Robert: Lucid dreams have played a big role in my life. Being in them and experimenting in them taught me firsthand that I am more than my body, more than my mind, and more than my sense of self. Facing difficulties and challenges while lucid dreaming has deepened and stabilized my ability to face difficulties and challenges while in the waking state. Deep insights and realizations have often arisen during lucid dreaming. I remember a dream I had when I was 34: I'm lucid and flying to meet a spiritual teacher I love. I am being knowingly propelled by my desire to see him, my movement being so fast that I cannot see any scenery. A few seconds later I find myself sitting in a room in the upper floor of an unknown stone building. I am waiting, but without any tension. There's a window in the room, and the air is very fresh, and the colours remarkably bright. I feel something touching my lower torso, and look down. To my surprise, I see a baby body, no more than a month or two old. I am holding him, cradling him, already in love with him. He meets my eyes, and I leave the dreaming state in ecstasy.

The next morning, I told my partner at that time that I'd met our son; prior to this, we'd had no desire whatsoever to have children, but within days had mutually and easily arrived at the decision to conceive him. A few months later, she was pregnant. Six months into her pregnancy, I had the following lucid dream: I'm in a unknown yet very familiar room. A boy, perhaps six month old, is sitting on the floor gazing at me. As I look into his eyes, I say, “Hi, Dama.” Before this we had not considered any name for our baby-to-be, and nor did we know that that little one would be a boy. Three months later Dama arrived. He did not cry once during his delivery and arrival; a short time later, he was in my arms, gazing at me as he had in my dreams.

Arthur: Could you tell us how you incorporate dreamwork into your therapy sessions or workshops? How does your approach relate to the various schools of therapy (gestalt, Jungian, etc.?) Are there any examples you'd like to share?

Robert: I frequently incorporate dreamwork into my session and groupwork, using a number of approaches. I may use Gestalt, having you act out the relationship between various parts of your dream; I may use psychodrama, having you act out a part of your dream; I may use bodywork, having you deeply experience and openly express different emotions and states that arose in your dream; and I may use all of these, and more, in working with one dream at one time, making room for you to really “get” your dream, and not necessarily in just one way.

An example: A woman in a group for women with cancer describes a dream in which she is being pursued by a very large bear. She is clearly frightened by it, and awakens before it reaches her. I talk with her a bit about her dream – she is nice to the extreme, meek-voiced and energetically small – then ask her to get on all fours and act like she's the bear. She is embarrassed, but goes ahead. Move around, I say, and let some sounds emerge. Again, more discomfort, but she does as I ask. She continues this for a bit, then I ask her, as the bear, to immediately speak to the frightened woman (her) in the dream. Without hesitation, she says, “Don't run away from me, ” and says it with considerable emotion. I ask her to say it again, and she starts to cry. Now, I say, imagine you are that frightened woman, and respond to the bear. She does, and goes back and forth for a while between the two positions. Finally, she doesn't need to move anymore, for both positions are now coexisting easily within her, and she, on her own, is starting to realize what the bear actually is – an expression of her own disowned power, enlarged by her fear of embodying such power. Her voice is fuller now, her presence much stronger. As she reclaims her “bear” energy, she fills out more, laughingly saying that she wants to give all the women in the room big bear hugs.

Another example: A young man (in a group session) is describing a dream in which he is prone, seemingly limbless, struggling to move forward. Limbs do eventually materialize, but only as flimsy, stick-like things viewed as from a distance. His voice is low and monotonous, tinged with a remote sadness. He sits as though defeated. I listen closely, noticing no intention in myself to speak. We gaze at each other in a not-uncomfortable silence. Breathing in, breathing out. There's a subtly increasing warmth in my belly and chest, then a sudden image of a terrified baby.

His eyes are a bit more open now, still distant but seeming to call from somewhere behind the distance. There's increasing movement in me now, amorphous but gathering momentum. I don't feel any desire to talk about the dream nor to “interview” him - something far more compelling is inviting me to act. My breath is a little fuller now, my belly looser; the feeling of presence in the room is getting stronger.

Now the waiting-time is over.

I ask him to lie face-down on the carpet, and to attempt to move forward without using his limbs. He struggles in silence, and cannot move forward. Breathe more deeply, I whisper in his ear, and let your struggling have a sound, a sound that expresses the actual feeling of it. He groans and writhes with great intensity, looking as though he's pinned to the spot. Or stuck. His back appears rigid yet oddly soft, his spine like a suffocating serpent. My own back is subtly writhing, my hands tingling. My intuition to touch him suddenly intensifies, and I begin to massage his back, loosening the muscles on either side of his spine.

Soon he is crying very hard, his sounds both adult and baby-like. I have him reach out in front of himself, but he still cannot move forward. Then I ask the group, all of whom are very moved, to make a kind of tunnel over him, everyone on hands and knees, alternatingly positioned (shoulders next to neighbor's hips), pressing down on him, but not so heavily that movement is impossible. Everyone knows what to do; there's an unspoken link between all of us, centreed by an obvious caring for him.

He starts to panic. I have him exaggerate his sounds for ten or fifteen seconds, then tell him to move forward, using his legs, his arms, everything he's got. For a minute or so, he struggles, moving ahead very slightly, wailing like a newborn, and then suddenly he explodes with strength, lifting up the bodies curled over him, screaming very loudly. Adrenaline races through me, not in fear, but in readiness.

I make a triangle-shaped opening with my hands and press it against the top of his head, encouraging him to keep coming. He pushes mightily, still screaming, moving forward, pushing and surging, his movements serpentine, his body feeling to me more like cascading rapids than solid flesh. Another minute or so, and through he bursts, spilling into my arms. I hold him close, while he cries uncontrollably. At this moment, I am both mother and father. And the newborn I am holding is not only him, but all of us, including me. My interpretations of what has happened pale beside the raw presence of his pain, his need, his sheer bareness of feeling, and - when he at last opens his eyes - his love.

He didn't move; he was movement. Birthing-movement, ancient and yet so nakedly now, messily precise, eventually unclouded by amniotic or psychosocial shrouding, eloquently transparent to Being. Nothing special in all this - just a few trembling petals of the everfresh, hyperbole-demolishing Wonder of being here.

Arthur: In many of your books you mention dreams in the context of the spiritual path of awakening. What do you see as the connection between our experience of dreaming and lucid dreaming, and our experience of life while physically awake? Or our experience of death, for that matter?

Robert: Our dream-life reflects our physical waking life, and our physical waking life reflects our dream-life; the two realities may seem very different, but in fact they are remarkably similar, and share considerable overlap. The mind I have while dreaming is basically the same mind I have while physically awake. The bodies in the two states may seem to be very different, but at the level of body-image – where we spend a lot of our mental time – they are very similar. The “I” at the centre of our dreams is pretty much the same “I” that's at the centre of our physical waking experience. Dreaming is what the mind tends to do when it's disembodied – daydreams while “awake” and sleep-dreams while, well, asleep.

At death and after death, no longer anchored to the body at all, the mind – and this is just my intuition – doesn't do much else other than dream, and it's not the kind of dreaming we can pinch ourselves out of, for there's no body to which to return; what's called for is real lucidity, the capacity to recognize that what's happening is dreaming, on whatever scale. The content doesn't really matter; a dream is a dream. Given that what happens after death is what is happening right now, we might as well stop flirting with awakening practices, and really get into them, regardless of the state we're in, doing whatever work is necessary so that such practices can take deep root in us. Lucid dreaming, lucid waking, lucid living, lucid being…

Arthur: In Darkness Shining Wild you describe the following dream as taking place shortly after the 5-Meo-DMT experience in which you almost died:

“I spent most of that first post-5-Meo night sitting up in bed (Nancy slept on and off beside me), helplessly absorbed in extremely gripping, three-dimensional replays of the horror I had experienced, now and then trying to comfort myself with the thought that this wouldn't, couldn't, last for more than a few nights. The waves of remembrance did not come gently. I was throbbing, shaking, struggling to find some semblance of calm in the psychospiritual riptides that were tossing me about like a piece of shore-bereft driftwood. A hellride minus an offramp.

"Hour after hour I endured, feeling as though I would never return from the madness that was infiltrating me. Finally, just before dawn, I fell asleep and very soon found myself in a lucid dream.

"I had often had such dreams, frequently using them as portals for all kinds of adventure and experimentation. As such, they were normally quite pleasing to be in; I would know that the body I “had” in the dream was not my actual physical body, and so could then freely engage in activities that would mean disaster or even Death in the “waking” state. If I was afraid in a regular dream and then became lucid during it, I could usually face the fear, interacting with it's dream-form until some kind of resolution or integration occurred.

"But not now. Yes, I knew I was dreaming, but I could not work with the fear therein. The dream was saturated with an enormous, otherworldly terror which was coupled with savagely hallucinatory disorientation. In the midst of this I stood, my dreambody but a ghostly sieve for its surroundings. I knew that if I left the dream, I would still be in the very same state.

"At last, I let myself go fully into the dream, despite my conviction that I very likely would not return. Now I was completely inside it, utterly lost, immersed in an edgeless domain of look-alike, spike-headed waveforms, each one sentient and subtly scaly, moving protoplasmically in endless procession in all directions. Just like my 5-Meo setting, but without the speed.

"Suddenly, I was overcome by a completely unexpected, rapidly expanding compassion. All fear vanished. A few moments later, I somehow cut - or intended - a kind of porthole in the bizarre universe that enclosed me, as cleanly round as the shrinking aperture of my consciousness at the onset of my 5-Meo journey.

"Through this opening the countless alien forms spontaneously came streaming, immediately metamorphosing into flowers, birds, trees, humans: Earthly life in all its wonder and heartbreaking fecundity. Then the dream faded, and I lay radiantly awake, deeply moved, feeling as though the hardest part was now over.

"It had, however, just begun.”

- Robert Augustus Masters, Darkness Shining Wild, pp.22-24

When I first read this dream, I felt puzzled as to why this didn't resolve the crisis for you. Upon further consideration, it seemed that in a way it reflected in miniature form your course through the dark night described in that book. Would you agree with that? How do you see this dream as fitting into your Darkness Shining Wild experience, and did dreams play any role in your healing process?

Robert: I would agree. This dream also foreshadowed my eventual emergence from my crisis roughly nine months later (on my birthday). I had many lucid dreams during those nine months, and none of them liberated me from my crisis. Did this mean that they were not helpful? No. They helped me to stay wakeful during that hellish time. In one, for example, my compassion for my agony (in the form of a man going insane) arose, supporting and paralleling my fledgling compassion for my agony during waking times. In hindsight, I recognize that it would not have served me to have had an exit from my suffering before my nine months were up; I needed to stay with it until I was no longer capable of resurrecting who I'd been before my 5-MeO-DMT hellride.

Arthur: You have some familiarity with entheogens/psychedelics and much experience with the naturally occurring “altered” states of dreaming and lucid dreaming, as well as vast experience with states of consciousness reached through meditative and other spiritual practice. How would you compare lucid dreaming with entheogens and meditative experiences as tools for exploring consciousness or to promote growth or awakening?

Robert: Where entheogens tend to dynamite the gates, lucid dreaming and meditative practice help open them, the key being in our hands. Once we're through the gates, we're usually presented with an abundance of experiential possibilities, ranging from the merely sensory to the ineffably revelatory. With entheogens, we're mostly just awe-filled spectators, however intimately connected we are to what's going on, at an impossibly rich banquet of sights, sounds, feelings, and perspectives; with lucid dreaming, we're much more likely to be participants in what is unfolding, seeing it alter in accord with what we are doing; with meditative practice, especially deep, stable meditative practice, we are neither spectators of nor participants in what is happening, but rather clearings of consciousness at once apart from and profoundly intimate with what is occurring. Such meditative practice may also occur, albeit rarely, during lucid dreaming (you might, for example, try closing your dream eyes during a lucid dream and letting yourself rest in Being) and entheogenic intoxication. There's no substitute for meditative practice and meditativeness, which can be accessed during any state or experiential possibility, even if we dream otherwise. Entheogens may catalyze some degree of awakening, and lucid dreaming may give it a stage, but meditativeness gives it the ground it needs to truly take root.

Arthur: In a Q&A thread on the Integral Naked forum, you mention an upcoming book on “dreams, dreaming and the dreamer.” Could you elaborate a bit on what subject areas you'll cover? Are you planning to include exercises for the reader?

Robert: That book is some years away, and so I haven't made any plans regarding its subjects areas, other than the very general topics of dreams, dreaming, and the dreamer.

Arthur: Thank you for a fascinating interview, Robert. Do you have any parting words of advice for those pursuing lucid dreaming in the context of personal or spiritual growth?

Robert: Experiment. Take risks while you are lucid. Pay attention to the role or roles you are playing in the dream; notice what hooks or attracts you, but don't forget to examine the you who is feeling hooked or attracted. Remain aware of the dreamer as much as you can, whatever state you are in. Experiment some more. Move from lucid dreaming to lucid being, letting awakening's alchemy get so far under your skin that you have no choice but to fully participate in it.

_____

This interview was originally published in the Lucid Dream Exchange.

Robert Augustus Masters' website includes essays, poetry, a free online newsletter and descriptions of his workshops, therapy and apprenticeship programs. Of particular interest is his essay An Integral Approach to Healing.

The Real Coaching Radio Network interviewed Robert on Authentic Femininity, which is available for free download here (Dec. 14, 2007 show); the interview discusses his latest book Transformation Through Intimacy: The Journey Toward Mature Monogamy. Robert also did a dialog on Radical Intimacy and the Search for a More Integral Wholeness, which you can listen to by joining Integral Naked for a free one-month trial membership.

- Contributed by Arthur Gillard.

see also:
Lucid Dreaming
Dream Tripping: Dream Drugs as Metaphor
Dream Yoga

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Lucid Dreaming

2007-12-07T13:21:00.000-08:00

by Arthur Gillard

Lucid dreaming may be simply defined as dreaming with awareness that you are dreaming. It may occur spontaneously or as a result of the dreamer noticing incongruities or impossibilities in the dream. Although it has been noted in the West at least as far back as Aristotle, awareness of the phenomenon of lucid dreaming did not enter the public consciousness on any large scale until relatively recently, notably following the publication in 1985 of Stephen LaBerge's groundbreaking book Lucid Dreaming: The Power of Being Awake and Aware in Your Dreams. In the East there is a rich tradition of lucid dreaming in certain meditation traditions, but here we will focus on the Western approach – although it is worth noting that studies have shown the incidence of spontaneous lucid dreams tends to increase in long-term meditators.

The degree of lucidity one may experience varies widely, from low-level or tacit lucidity – enough to use magical powers, for example – all the way to high-level lucidity in which you realize everything you are experiencing is occurring in your mind while your physical body is safe in bed. Generally your ability to control the dream increases with the degree of lucidity, but it is up to you to choose how much control to exert – including choosing to simply witness the dream as it unfolds.

The experience of lucid dreaming is limited only by your imagination, and can be used in a variety of ways, including fantasy/adventure, overcoming nightmares, rehearsal of skills, problem solving or creativity, healing, experiencing psychedelic or transcendent states, shadow work, and insight into the illusory nature of reality.

Lucid dreaming is an easily learnable skill, given motivation and effort. The most fundamental element is good dream recall, which improves readily if one sets the intention to recall dreams when going to bed, and gets into the habit of writing down whatever can be recalled upon waking up. Many exercises have been developed to cultivate the skill of lucid dreaming, but one of the best for beginners is State Testing.

CRITICAL STATE TESTING TECHNIQUE

1. Make a habit of seriously asking yourself several times during the day, “Am I dreaming or awake, right now?” Particularly do this if you notice anything out of the ordinary.

2. Test your state. There are several ways to do this, but one of the easiest is to read some text, look away, then read it again – in dreams writing will almost always change in some way. Or jump up and try to prolong the time you stay airborne. Another very reliable technique is to look twice at a digital time display, which never behave correctly in dreams.

3. If your state test reveals that you are awake, then imagine what you would do in the same situation if it turned out to be a dream: this will help motivate you and also help set intentions to carry out while lucid dreaming.

A final tip: for beginners, it may be difficult to stay in the dream state for long once you've become lucid. However, should you feel yourself beginning to wake up, spin rapidly while focusing your attention on your dreambody; almost invariably this will stabilize the dream.

References

1. Lucid Dreaming FAQ: http://www.lucidity.com/LucidDreamingFAQ2.html

2. Stephen LaBerge, Ph.D. & Howard Rheingold, Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming (New York: Ballantine Books, 1990)

3. Patricia Garfield, Ph.D., Pathway to Ecstasy: The Way of the Dream Mandala (New York: Prentice Hall Press, 1979)

4. Malcolm Godwin, The Lucid Dreamer: A Waking Guide for the Traveler Between Worlds (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1994)

5. Celia Green and Charles McCreery, Lucid Dreaming: The Paradox of Consciousness During Sleep (New York: Routledge, 1994)

6. Kenneth Kelzer, The Sun and the Shadow: My Experiment with Lucid Dreaming (Virginia: A.R.E. Press, 1987)

7. Stephen LaBerge, Lucid Dreaming: The Power of Being Awake and Aware in Your Dreams (New York: Ballantine Books, 1985)

8. Robert L. Van de Castle, Ph.D., Our Dreaming Mind (New York: Ballantine Books, 1994)

9. Rick Veitch, Rabid Eye: The Dream Art of Rick Veitch, Vermont: King Hell Press, 1995)

10. Charles T. Tart, Waking Up: Overcoming the Obstacles to Human Potential (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 1986) [The focus of this book is neither dreaming nor lucid dreaming, but many students of lucid dreaming have found it invaluable.]

_____

This article was written and contributed by Arthur Gillard.

see also:
Lucid Dreaming and Awakening: an Interview with Robert Augustus Masters
Dream Tripping: Dream Drugs as Metaphor
Dream Yoga

see also:
The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

More Than Entertainment: The Fountain

2007-12-02T10:57:00.000-08:00

I don’t think I’ve ever disagreed so strongly with so many movie critics over a film. Their distaste for and dismissal of Darren Aronofsky ’s latest work, The Fountain, was not all that surprising, given that it’s a film that cannot be truly appreciated, let alone fully resonated with, unless one has already spent some quality time in spiritual bootcamp investigating – and not just intellectually – core issues like the nature of identity, love, being, and death, not to mention the means through which these can best be explored.

My guess is that if most of the critics who trashed The Fountain were to be presented, in all sincerity and minimal superficiality, with the question: “Who are you?” (a warmup for “What are you?”), their answer would probably be to supply their name and perhaps occupation. If pressed further, the result would likely be not more in-depth or mind-transcending responses, but rather only a turning away from or ridiculing of the question, as if it were just some sort of sophomoric navel-gazing exercise. Yet the very immaturity that they might attribute to such an enterprise simply exposes their immaturity and adult-erated take on topics that really matter.

Those who have not significantly explored their own depths – psychological, spiritual, emotional, and otherwise – are probably going to toss The Fountain into the same bin as What The Bleep Do We Know, What Dreams May Come, and other such movies (whether they liked them or not), confusing the regressively unitive and otherwise prerational elements of such films with the transrational (and transegoic) elements of The Fountain.

There is an ecstatic dimension – sometimes shatteringly, heartbreakingly beautiful – that shows up throughout The Fountain which is very different than conventional spiritual upliftment. My heart felt ripped open and raw watching it, as deep grief and an equally deep joy coursed through me, as if in fully embodied recognition of what we truly are. Instead of just providing some fascinating information (data-fodder, mystical and otherwise, for the mind) or a tasty bit of spiritualized entertainment, The Fountain provides us with a potentially transformative opportunity, through our unguarded participation in its multidimensional poetics, as well as its often epiphanous intimacy with the inherent paradoxes of Life.

Like good poetry, The Fountain doesn’t explain, but reveals. It raises profound questions, and offers something more real than answers. This may be an irritant to film critics who are busy doing time in their headquarters, but is a sublime balm, Life-affirming and succulently transcendent, to those who have begun to awaken to their true nature.

In The Fountain an edge is played that most other “spiritual” films don’t go near or even acknowledge, an edge that doesn’t console or provide spiritual robes for the conventional self, but that instead shakes it to the core before blasting it far beyond what can be imagined. This edge, lined with reality-unlocking implications, is touched, at least in its darker dimensions, by a few other films, such as Mulholland Drive, but The Fountain dares to bring deep relational love into it, without slipping into romanticism, spiritual and otherwise. The agony of love when death comes nearer than is wanted is honored as much as the bliss of love when everything lines up, even as a deeper love, a death-transcending love, is allowed to arise slowly but surely from the debris of all this, in eloquently nuanced detail and flow.

Film critics who viewed most of the offerings of so-called spiritual cinema would probably be turned off by the terminally sweet tone, simplistic patter, shadow bypassing, and one-dimensional acting that pervades many of these. But to toss such lightweight, spiritually sentimental films into the same bin as The Fountain simply indicates an inability to distinguish pop spirituality from a deeper spirituality.

And what is that deeper spirituality? First of all, it cannot be known through merely rational means, however much the rational mind presumes to know it. Film critics who are identified with or holed up in their thinking minds, unquestioningly believing themselves to be who they think they are and confusing cleverness with intelligence, can only see prerational spirituality (that is, intellectually childish, superstitious, overly ritualistic spirituality), and so lump all spirituality into the same prerational basket, much as Freud famously did with religion, labeling it with facile ease as “New Age” or as some kind of metaphysical mush or babble.

The love in The Fountain is an ever-intensifying mix of everyday love, big love, and supreme love, unburdened by the solemnly clichéd pronouncements (i.e., “we’re all one” or “we’re all connected”) and sugary excesses that often pollute spiritual cinema. The agony and the ecstasy are both very much present – and heart-rippingly easy to feel –along with a sense of tacit revelation that I found incredibly moving.

And threading through all of it is the presence of death, on many levels. Death that is fought, death that is the opposite of Life, death that is the enemy, death that is a disease, death that is but a doorway, death that serves and deepens Life, death that makes possible a deeper Life, death that enriches love and Love. There is so, so much that the protagonist (masterfully played by Hugh Jackman) is dying to see, and through him, through his struggle, his trio of apparent lifetimes, we become more intimate with what we are dying to see. And dying to be.

The Fountain invites us to die into a deeper Life – not through some kind of teaching or transmission of information, but through wholeheartedly participating in the journey of the protagonist and his wife (beautifully played by Rachel Weisz). We are then less spectators watching a movie, and more initiates in a temple of revelation. And why not? Why can’t cinema serve our awakening?

To really get into this, we have to get naked, showing up in (and as) undressed Being, allowing ourselves a second innocence, an awakened innocence that strips us of our knowledge and automated certainties and deposits us in the Open Secret of the hyperbole-transcending Mystery of our existence. If our mouth drops open, so be it; if our buttoned-up case of mistaken identity starts to give up the ghost, so be it; if we’re brought to our knees, and prayer becomes not something we do but are, so be it.

Yes, The Fountain is just a movie, but it is also that rarest of creatures, a movie that has the power to transport us not just into the mystical but through the mystical, taking us into what we never really left, but only dreamt we did. Use it as a catalyst for touching what matters most of all; I can assure you that it is clean, free of harmful additives, non-addictive, and worth revisiting.

- Contributed by Robert Augustus Masters (originally posted on his blog: December 2006)

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

The Globalist and an Integral Approach to World Events

2007-11-28T15:27:00.000-08:00

In a world dominated by scientific materialism and pluralistic postmodernism, where does one turn to get a more evolved view of the world and current events? Well, one possible source of in-depth world analysis is The Globalist. I’m not sure it makes a lot of sense to talk about an “integral” source of news and information, but The Globalist does seem to be a great place to go to get the kinds of information a person with an integral worldview needs.

Take last week for example (Nov. 19-23, see links to articles below), which is an excellent example of what The Globalist does typically. Each day last week, they published one in-depth article concerning the plight of the world’s poorest nations. The articles are contributed by experts from around the world, who look at the topic from a variety of angles, generally including both cultural and socio-economic aspects and viewpoints, as well as considering the viewpoints of both the political left and the political right. By looking at the topic at hand with a critical eye from such a variety of angles, they provide the integrally-informed reader with just about everything needed to understand global issues fairly well, or, in any event, much better than is possible by reading just about any other traditional news source. And armed with a better understanding of what’s happening globally, you’re able to more fully contextualize the daily news from whatever source.

Highly recommended reading!

Links to articles:

Monday, Nov. 19 – Where Bangladesh Leaves India in the Dust
Tuesday, Nov. 20 – Falling Behind and Falling Apart: The Bottom Billion
Wednesday, Nov. 21 – Trade and the Bottom Billion
Thursday, Nov. 22 – What The West Can Do for the Bottom Billion
Friday, Nov. 23 – Solving Africa's Public Health Crisis

~~~

- Contributed by Grey

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Integral Politics (Ken Wilber transcript)

2007-11-23T10:50:00.000-08:00

In 2003, integral author Ken Wilber gave a talk at JFK University. Audio files of that event are available (for streaming or download) from the Formless Mountain website; you can stream or download them for free here (if you find them useful Formless Mountain requests a $6 donation).

Following is a transcript of a six minute discussion of “integral politics.” In this talk Wilber uses color-coded terminology from the “Spiral Dynamics” system; however, it is not necessary to have any familiarity with this system to understand the main points of this transcript. The most important point Ken makes is “if you have a more accurate map of the terrain of human beings, then when you're looking at political situations and international political situations, you have a much more accurate map. If you're flying over the Rocky Mountains, then the more accurate the map the less likely you're going to crash. And so far politicians have been making judgments based on flatly inaccurate maps, wildly inaccurate maps, and we see the results of that. So having a much more comprehensive, inclusive map of what we're doing, is going to, I think, help politics in all sorts of ways.”

Integral Politics (transcript of Ken Wilber's 2003 JFKU Talk)

Mostly the role of integral psychology and politics is analyzing the complete psychosexual nightmares of our presidents. [general laughter] Yeah! Well, hopefully there would be better uses put to this! There are three or four major ones. Some are frankly just standard market manipulation stuff - it's not bad, but it's just the most effective way if you're going to a politician and you're getting an integral consulting service and you happen to believe that the politician is as good as they come – you know we're grading on a curve here – and you would like to support them, then you want to help them tailor their message, not change their message, but tailor it in a way that more people can hear it and understand it and make a better judgment.

So actually, people who work with the politicians use the four or five “P's”, which is basically principle, profit, people, planet – and if you want to add red, then it's power, principle, profit, people and planet. So for the red meme you stress empowerment, for yourself – now I know empowerment sounds like human potential green, and it is, but it actually caters right to the red - it's very egocentric, so I get to empower myself. So if you have a language of “this is what you can do to be more powerful, this is what you can do to empower yourself,” then you couple that with principle for the blue meme. Principle is, “we have to do the following in order to protect those things that are important to us, protect our families and so on” – then blue resonates with that, because they want principles of stability that's going to help them. Orange wants profit and they want excellence, so “if we do this then you'll have a chance to bring excellence into the world, a chance to succeed, and achieve in ways that can be very beneficial to others.” Green is the “people” of the “P's” so that is sensitivity and caring for all people, “the boat is going to rise for everybody if we take this approach.” And then yellow is global, or the fifth “P” - “planet” – so then you talk set in the values of that which will help the entire planet as a whole. So that's just part of the marketing side of politics.

On what I would consider the more germane uses of it: how do you create an integral political leader, how do you have somebody who, again, is integrally informed – not necessarily hitting turquoise on all of their lines, but they're aware of these, they know how to use them, and most importantly they know how to use it to read the population and to read the world at large. Bill Clinton is now giving speeches – well I think a lot of you know Bill's read a lot of my stuff, and the way Al Gore got into it is Bill Clinton read The Marriage of Sense and Soul, and he wrote a hand-written four-page letter on it, and then he gave the book to Al and told him to read it.

Now Al is running for the presidency at that time, so at the time he was reading the book the New Yorker magazine was doing one of those in-depth profiles of him, and in the course of this they said, basically what is your favorite book and he said “The Marriage of Sense and Soul. “ So the poor New Yorker had to write a column explaining a book that oh my god had the word “spirit” in it, and I could just see the New Yorker writer just choking on trying to get this thing out. But they did a very good job of it! And then Gore was interviewed by Rolling Stone and told them that that was his favorite book as well.

Clinton recently gave a speech where he said “I now understand why the Iraq situation and the Middle East situation is such a mess,” he said, “it's because less than two percent of the population are at an integral level of understanding.” Now that's exactly what you want to see start happening.

So we are going to bring several of these politicians into Integral Institute. We're not doing Bill Clinton or any of them right now because we don't want to be defined by these names - that's what would happen at this early stage. We want to go ahead and set our own agenda and create that but I've got Bill's cell phone number…

George Bush doesn't read but his main adviser is Karl Rove, and Karl Rove is a political genius. Karl Rove got him in office and Karl Rove knows the score. So Karl got a two hour presentation on all quadrants, all levels, all lines from Don Beck, and it's part of a minor attempt of the compassionate conservatism, it's their attempt to be integral at blue – and guess what? They're more integral at blue than Gore was at green. There's no way that the conservative party should have won given everything that was present – Al should have walked away with it, and he didn't, and it wasn't just because he bungled it, it's because Bush and Rove crafted an integral statement at blue – and it really rang true at that level much more so than Al's changing his story every time and – it was really shocking actually.

For me one of the best things is, if you have a more accurate map of the terrain of human beings, then when you're looking at political situations and international political situations, you have a much more accurate map. If you're flying over the Rocky Mountains, then the more accurate the map the less likely you're going to crash. And so far politicians have been making judgments based on flatly inaccurate maps, wildly inaccurate maps, and we see the results of that. Having a much more comprehensive, inclusive map of what we're doing is going to, I think, help politics in all sorts of ways. So that's one of the main things we'd like to see happening. We do have a college of integral politics at Integral U – so, stay tuned.

~~~

This transcript was prepared by Arthur Gillard. To listen to the original “integral politics” audio presentation please go to the audio page of Formless Mountain.

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Rebuilding Everything

2007-11-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

Civilization has collapsed completely and it's up to you and a few scattered survivors to rebuild it from the ground up - that's the premise of a “reality TV” show proposed by author/scientist David Brin in his recent blog entry “REBUILDING EVERYTHING!” Teams would strive to re-attain the stages of technological development which form the essential stepping-stones for our complex, globally interconnected (and precariously turbulent) present phase of development.

A practical goal of this project would be to produce “knowledge caches” which could be helpful in restarting civilization should the need arise. Brin also considers inclusion of cultural elements, which would be an interesting touch; as noted in the work of Jean Gebser and Ken Wilber, among others, technology and culture tend to co-evolve – e.g. we find much different institutions and forms of governance in tribal “stone age” societies than we would in industrial societies or our increasingly interconnected information age. For more on Brin's proposed TV series see REBUILDING EVERYTHING! A proposed reality show.

- contributed by Arthur

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Robert Augustus Masters Interview: What Is Integral?

2007-11-14T08:50:00.000-08:00

Robert Augustus Masters is a therapist and writer specializing in integral healing and awakening. Robert describes himself as increasingly finding freedom less through transcendence than through intimacy with all that is, a perspective which illuminates his deeply transformative workshops and therapy sessions. His latest book is Transformation Through Intimacy: Journey Toward Mature Monogamy.

Arthur Gillard: What does the term "integral" mean to you? What are some of the positive aspects of an integral approach, and why is it important?

Robert Augustus Masters: To me, the term “integral” basically means inclusive in a radically comprehensive manner. I say “radically” for a number of reasons: (1) The things being brought together (following sufficient clarification of their uniqueness) constitute not just parts of a totality, but also as much as possible of that totality’s presence, in as many directions and as much depth as possible; (2) such a bringing-together is far more than just a get-together or reunion or conference of partially connected items or qualities; and (3) the circle of extension that reaches from within out beyond every part illuminates and deepens the connections between all of the pieces or qualities being brought together, literally integrating them without any requisite homogenization or dilution of individual differences.

An integral approach is not just sophisticated eclecticism or a neatly mapped mixture of applied methodologies. We may be meditating, working out, doing a bit of shadow-work, and keeping up with the latest in integral theory, but this does not necessarily mean that we are actually being integral. We can only say that we’re being integral if our various practices and ways of being are functioning together (and not just in our eyes!) as a consistently embodied, more-than-adequately functioning whole, through which we are, however gradually, cultivating intimacy with all that we are. We may not have fully arrived yet, but are on our way, and have the momentum to back this up, along with an integrity that runs more and more deeply through all that we do.

Being truly integral means, among other things, developing intimacy with everything — everything! — that constitutes us. A genuinely integral consciousness lives such intimacy both conceptually and nonconceptually.

An integral approach works with our physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and social dimensions, level upon level, consistently taking all of it into account, without losing touch with the totality that includes and pervades it all. This means that everything relevant is considered in as inclusive, cohesive, and useful a manner as possible.

Arthur: Do you see any limitations or downsides to integral frameworks or how they are used?

Robert: Yes, particularly when such frameworks are overrelied on, or are employed in excessively intellectual ways, or are given a status which they don’t deserve. Here, I’m obviously talking about the misuse of integral frameworks — and all frameworks can, of course, be misused — but when any framework makes real estate out of overly abstract territories, leaving most readers of it more bewildered or cognitively constipated than illuminated, then that framework itself must be questioned, rather than making any difficulty associated with comprehending it the fault of the reader. This is tricky, though, since complexity can easily be categorized as just intellectual indulgence, and simplicity made into a unquestioned virtue; any integral framework is going to demand something from us intellectually, and we must be aware (beware) of reductionist tendencies here. My leaning is not toward complexity or simplicity, but rather practical elegance. A framework that really works for us is not just a heady scaffolding, but an esthetically resonant network of intersecting relevancies that readily reach more than our mind.

Overly intellectual approaches to being integral pay insufficient attention to emotions, in part perhaps because emotions are just too messy and too nonlinearly inclusive of the rest of our dimensions to be able to be neatly mapped. Emotions implicate us as a totality. They obviously involve the physical/physiological and the cognitive, but also include the social, and sometimes also the spiritual. (Very briefly, affect is the intrinsic, biological dimension of emotion; feeling is our conscious experience of affect; and emotion is the framing and dramatization of feeling. Where affect is reaction, and feeling the recognition of affect, emotion is adaptation.) Emotion involves feeling, cognition, social factors, related action tendencies, and perspectival capacity, all of which interact and work together. Any integral approach that only superficially deals with emotions is only superficially integral.

Arthur: Ken Wilber has formulated a highly detailed and comprehensive integral framework which could be described as a cognitive map of non-cognitive aspects of human nature (see, for example, the online document What Is Integral? or his recent published book The Integral Vision). Proponents say it helps one to make sure they are "touching all the bases" in their lives; some detractors say it lends itself to an overly-intellectual approach. What do you see as the benefits and potential pitfalls of this kind of detailed mapping of human reality?

Robert: Probably its key benefit is that it can assist in making us aware (or more aware) of the different areas of our life, level upon level, personally, interpersonally, collectively, and spiritually. Such a highly detailed mapping points to places and spaces which we may have overlooked or only superficially considered, and in so doing provides a real service; however, this can also be problematic, in that such a mapping can easily lead to or reinforce (or even subtly legitimize) an overly conceptual approach, in which the mapping — and the mapping of the mapping — gets so stickily lodged behind our forehead that theorizing about theorizing can easily take precedence over actually taking sufficiently fitting action. It’s not Wilber’s fault, of course, if people misuse his integral framework, but at the same time it’s important not to leave his framework unchallenged. We might, for example, see in his framework a lack of in-depth attention being given to emotion and emotional literacy, and recognize this as a weakness in (or an anemically developed aspect of) his model — mentioning an “affective line” is just not enough for us.

Arthur: You warn of the dangers of using the term "integral" too loosely, in inappropriate contexts, or superficially. Given those caveats, what do you think of using an integral framework or perspective to usefully examine complex issues, such as political events or social problems, or to help create useful solutions that cover all the bases of a problem?

Robert: I think that an integral framework or perspective is the best way to usefully examine such issues, so long as its animating force is well-embodied and free of the deadening language of academia, political masturdebation, and other hangouts for disembodied rationality.

An integral approach is not going to be much of a reality for us if we ourselves are not already living, to a significant degree, in an integral fashion. Part of what is needed is a clear recognition of where we are not integral, not in healthy relationship to some aspect of ourselves, not in integrity. Facing our fragmentation rather than trying to rise above it or only superficially deal with it is a step toward integrity. “Integral” is a bit like “love,” in that both terms are actually quite profound in their meaning, but are often used too readily or superficially. The intention to be integral is not in itself integral.

Arthur: You work as an integral therapist. What does that mean in practice? Why is an integral approach to therapy important, and what kinds of problems or clients does integral therapy best suit?

Robert: What it means is that I let an integral — or, better, intuitive integral — perspective guide what I do. It’s not that I sit there thinking about being integral, but rather that I relate to my clients (both individually and in groups) with an awareness that, as much as possible, compassionately takes in and holds them and what they’re presenting in a manner both detailed and panoramic. I work with their minds, their bodies, their emotions, their spirituality, and whatever social factors have significantly impacted them. This is not about me trying to be noble or good; rather, it’s just the manner of functioning that feels best to me — and the more I see my clients benefitting from such an inclusive approach, the more firmly rooted I become in it. And I feel so good about it that I’ve been teaching it for a while in my intuitive integral psychotherapy trainings and apprenticeship programs, even as I continue to learn more and more about it.

In an integral approach to psychotherapy, the mental, physical, emotional, social, and spiritual dimensions of us are all not only taken into account, but are also permitted to work in fruitful tandem — whatever constitutes us, at whatever level, is approached and engaged with in the context of our innate wholeness of being.

For example, bodywork done during a psychotherapy session would through an integral approach be conducted in a way that effectively connected it and its results to the rest of what composes us, both personally and transpersonally. (An intuitive, deeply felt practice this is, known from the inside out, simultaneously employing and transcending methodology.)

Without such connection, we’re marooned, left clinging to — and also very likely overrelying on — particular aspects of ourselves. We may meditate deeply, but find ourselves cut off from the depths of our emotions; or we may be able to openly access these depths, but find ourselves getting overwhelmed by or too easily caught up in them; or we may change our way of thinking, so that we can better regulate our emotions, but find ourselves getting stuck in disembodied rationality; and so on. And we may conceal — and not necessarily deliberately! — what isn’t working behind what is working for us.

The integration of our disparate elements — the healing retrieval and rightful positioning and alignment of our scattered or shattered selves — needs a suitable vessel for whatever changes are necessary. That vessel, that container for integral alchemy, needs to be present both inwardly — in our commitment to healing — and outwardly — in the form of supportive environments, as epitomized by well-embodied, intuitively integral approaches to psychotherapy.

Psychotherapy as such is both crucible and sanctuary for the needed healing and awakening. It is not just intimate with the personal and the transpersonal, but also with the interpersonal and collective, working as it does to illuminate and deepen the relationships between the various elements and qualities that together make us what we are.

Truly integral psychotherapy does not try to be integral; rather, it can’t help but be integral. Its bodywork, verbal direction, emotional opening, and spiritual deepening all work together as a whole, helping clients differentiate, connect, and integrate their various dimensions in an organic, naturally emerging manner.

In psychotherapy, “integral”is not so much a methodology, as a way of being. Whatever directions it gives are secondary to the presence it provides.

Arthur: Finally, could you say more about the importance of embodiment and relationships? How can people cultivate these qualities if they don't have the resources or interest to engage in expensive therapy or training?

Robert: Embodiment is essential. Without it, we are simply adrift, wandering through cul-de-sacs of mind, constructing edifices of thought in which we cleverly waste away, cut off from the very grounding that provides us with the roots which we need in order to truly soar. An integral approach includes the body; this is pretty obvious, but the question is: How does it include the body? For workouts, yoga, massage, running? If it’s truly integral, it will work not only with the body visible, but also with the interior of the body — especially where it’s clearly not just a body, but a bodymind and energy-field — and with all of our emotions, which of course possess a strong physical component. What we are is not “in” a body, but is making an appearance as a body. Thus do we show up, and the more consciously and fully we are embodied, the more deeply we will experience whatever is happening to us, be it external or internal or a mix of both.

And relationship? Everything exists through relationship, and only through relationship. Everything! Everything, everyone, everywhere, everywhen, every last bit of it. None of it exists unto itself, truly separate from all the rest of it. None of it!

We are never not in relationship. How could we be? No one and no thing possesses truly independent existence, and therefore cannot really stand apart from everything else. In fact, that very “everything else” is what we depend upon for our very existence.

No matter how far apart we are, we are still connected. No matter how isolated we are, we are still connected. Interconnected and interdependent are we, on every possible scale, outer and inner, regardless of our mental commentary to the contrary.

As sages have long pointed out, there is actually no such thing as a truly separate or truly independent thing or being, but rather only different manifestations or embodiments of the same everpresent reality, all following the arc of their own unique yet ever-contingent leanings, meeting more and more of themselves through each other, however mechanically or unconsciously.

When such encounters become conscious — that is, when interrelatedness itself becomes conscious — integration and real intimacy become possible.

Recognizing our inherent unity of being is not the final realization of being human, but rather just the beginning. Honoring our unitive nature while simultaneously honoring the imperatives of individuated life is perhaps the core challenge of living a fully human life. And is there a better way to practice this than through an integral approach?

How we differ from each other (and from earlier versions of ourselves) is just as interesting to me as our oneness. Oneness is a given; the rest is not. Evolution — the fact that we develop — ensures that this is so.

Objectivity (or the apparent reality of what is exterior) and subjectivity (or the apparent reality of what is interior), both of which are obviously essential to consider when exploring the nature of relationship, are but the presenting surface of something deeper, something that includes both without being reducible to either.

And that something is relationship.

Some say that relationship is intersubjectivity (that is, the encounter and interplay of my interiority — my feelings, thoughts, perceptions, and so on — with your interiority), but there’s more to relationship than just your “inner-life/within-ness” and my “inner-life/within-ness” meeting.

We also must take interobjectivity (that is, the encounter and interplay of my exteriority — my behavior, physicality, and so on — with your exteriority) into account in considering the nature of relationship.

Relationship basically is intersubjectivity and interobjectivity operating as one process. Inside meeting inside, outside meeting outside, and inside meeting outside, with enough crossover, layering, and hybrid vigor to make things really interesting.

Infuse all this with love and awareness, and the result is intimacy.

We can cultivate a deeper sense of embodiment and relatedness simply by allowing ourselves to more fully participate in (and through) them, both alone and in the company of kindred spirits. Along the way, it can very useful to get into some good therapy or training, but if you simply are not in a position where you can afford this, you can still evolve. Much depends on your passion for doing such work on yourself, and on your commitment to sticking with it.

And things aren’t always as expensive as they might seem: Some courses (like many Vipassana trainings) are paid for through donation; some psychotherapists (like me) often give scholarship positions in groups; and inexpensive yet still competent work can sometimes be found through those who are in training to be psychotherapists. And though psychotherapy may seem expensive, it can be an incredible and very cost-effective deal if you are ripe for it and are with a sufficiently skilled practitioner; sometimes just one or two sessions can make an enormous difference. There’s a commonplace notion that we have to see a therapist frequently to elicit significant change; this often is simply not true. And along the way, it helps to remember that it is none other than our own healing and awakening to which we are being invited, by all that happens to us.

~~~

Integral Naked hosts an interesting and informative dialog with Robert entitled Radical Intimacy and the Search for a More Integral Wholeness. To listen to the dialog you need to join Integral Naked for a free one-month trial membership.

Robert's website includes essays, poetry, a free online newsletter, a blog, as well as descriptions of his workshops, therapy and apprenticeship programs. Of particular interest is his essay on “An Integral Approach to Healing."

- contributed by Arthur

The Integral News and Views blog aims to explore accessible and practical integral perspectives for people who are interested in getting beyond fragmented worldviews, who desire intimacy with all that they are, and who wish to help the world, themselves, and others evolve and thrive in a mutually beneficial and sustainable manner.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Basically this means you can freely distribute this blog entry as is, for non-commercial purposes, as long as you attribute it to Robert Augustus Masters and link back to this blog entry.