Coming Home

Coming Home

The words "spiritual teacher" in the brochure caught my attention. He was the guest speaker at

a metaphysical center I attended in the late 1970's. When he walked into the conference room, I saw a gentle man with a round face and wavy shoulder length yellow hair. He'd come to talk about his book, "Coming Home - The Experience of Enlightenment in Spiritual Traditions." The title was scholarly, shedding light on his PhD background in Comparative Religion. His name was Lex Hixon.

At the end of his presentation, the audience rushed to meet him carrying their copies of the book "Coming Home" for him to sign. I watched from my seat as one after another shook hands with him, or engaged in brief conversation. As the swell of people diminished I got up to leave. But something stopped me. Turning around I went back towards him wondering, "Why are you doing this and what do you plan to say to him?" In fact, I had nothing to say, but when I stood in front of him, the words, "You are a friend of my soul" came tumbling out of my mouth. As I heard the strange words I thought to myself, "What are you saying to this stranger?"

He took my hand in his and looked into my eyes. The words I'd just said felt like they were taking form. He said, "I know those words. You too are a friend of my soul." Then he asked, "Would you come to my home in NYC tomorrow?" and I, without knowing this stranger, or what I was agreeing to said, "Yes." He gave me his home address in Riverdale overlooking the Hudson and told me to come at 9 a.m.

Continuing this strange meeting, and completely out of character, I told no one where I was going that Saturday morning. On the drive into NYC I kept asking myself, "Are you crazy - No one knows where you're going - You could be meeting an axe-murderer." Yet I kept going arriving at his high rise apartment off the Henry Hudson Parkway exactly at nine. He greeted me at the door in a Buddhist robe, asked me to remove my shoes, then ushered me into a very sparsely decorated Zen home. He then asked me if I knew why I was there. I said no, but was compelled to come. He asked me if I knew how to meditate. I said yes.

Next, he asked if I knew who Kali was. I didn't at the time. So he took me into another room where a large bronze Kali was sitting on a small table with incense, a candle and an altar cloth. There were no furnishings in that room other than a cushion in front of Kali. He asked me if I had a meditation shawl. I said no. He left the room, returning with a long white shawl with maroon borders. He placed it over my shoulders, lit the candle and incense, and told me to sit with Kali and come out when I felt ready. Then he left.

I sat with Kali for almost two hours. I studied her ferocious face and many arms. I meditated. I
thought about the surreal day I was spending. I meditated some more. Eventually the candle and incense burned down and my legs had grown numb so I got up and came out of the "Kali room." He was nowhere around. So I went into an adjoining room I concluded was his library as it was filled with books on every religious topic. He came in to find me holding a large book, The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. He said, "Ah, you've found Sri Ramakrishna. You need that book and the Works of Vivekananda." He added, "You should also study The Way of Zen."

We talked a while into mid-afternoon. Then by some unspoken agreement it was time for me to go. I removed the shawl still around my shoulders, folded it, and handed it back to him. He said, "No, that shawl is now yours. I received it from a sage in India and now I give it to you. The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna is also yours to keep." He walked me to the door, bowed to me and we said goodbye.

Though my time with him was only several hours long, he turned out to be one of the greatest catalysts on my journey on the esoteric path. Though when we met I had no idea who he was or how he would later influence me. You see, Lex Hixon was a mystic who immersed himself in the major religions of the world which he called "parallel sacred worlds." He was a disciple of Swami Nikhilananda of the Ramakrishna-Vivekananda Center in NYC, a well known and respected Sufi master. As host of New York City's WBAI In The Spirit, he regularly interviewed the leading spiritual and religious teachers of the 20th century. This gentle unassuming man was also an artist, musician, scholar, and spiritual author.

His last words to me on that Saturday in New Jersey were, "Wherever you are, be at home!" Little did I know that I'd never see him again for Lex died at age 53. I still have the shawl he gave me, along with The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna and The Works of Vivekananda. I read The Way of Zen many times. Each time I fondly remembered that Saturday with Lex Hixon. 

Though I never saw him again, I knew our connection was real when, 35 years later, on a spiritual retreat, my teacher wanted me to memorize The Heart Sutra. He handed me three different translations and told me to choose one. When I got to page two of the translation I'd chosen tears welled up. It had been translated by none other than Lex Hixon. Lex was right when he told me, "Wherever you are, be at home!" In the briefest moment in time, he was the guide who directed me on the path of Coming Home!

                                                                                           Jo Mooy - August 2017  

WU WEI - The Art of Doing Nothing

The Art of Doing Nothing

"Sitting quietly. Doing nothing. Spring comes. And the grass grows by itself." This Haiku poem
by Matsuo Basho (1600's) floated into my inbox one morning after the US election. Sitting quietly and doing nothing was definitely not part of my game-plan that day. But, I tucked it away thinking if things "settled down" I'd revisit it at a later date.

Things didn't settle down! After the inauguration the country was more divided than ever before. Visible agitation and personal anguish were expressed everywhere. Some felt we were on a runaway train back to the dark ages. Friendships became irretrievably broken. Sadly in other cases, long term marriages or relationships ended because of election results. The very active "group-mind" behind the right and the left were at polar opposites. Neither side could agree on any topic.

After a few months sitting in this symbolically stretched-thin rubber band, I was at a loss on how to move forward. Then I remembered two spiritual teachers and the practices they taught me for when things seemed most bleak. The first was to be consciously aware of what you're doing and the second, reflect on what is actually transpiring behind the obvious appearances. So I took stock of my daily life. Being tied to the computer (which supports our many projects and seminars) was partly to blame. Bombarded by constant news flashes I was swallowed up with
anxiety just like everyone else. I had to do something pro-active. I clicked a few buttons and disabled the News Briefs, Facebook, and Twitter posts. Instantly my knee-jerk reactions to every breaking headline or post stopped. Ease entered the work-day. I focused on creative work instead of the chaotic news cycles with their inane talking-head commentaries.

Then, "Spring came and the grass began to grow by itself." I remembered the Haiku to "sit quietly and do nothing." What an indulgence that seemed. I looked up the concept of sitting quietly and doing nothing and found Wu Wei. It's one of the greatest principles in Taoism known as "action in non-action." That sounds like a contradiction but it's not. It's actually allowing our actions to happen effortlessly and finding that the actions are in fact, part of a greater flowing alignment. So I sat quietly, doing meditation practices, sending healing and blessing to governments around the world. A contented feeling washed over me that "the grass would grow by itself" or in other words, "All is well."

While I wasn't immune to the daily news, the practice of Wu Wei allowed the second spiritual
practice to form. I started looking behind what was actually transpiring and saw a bigger picture emerge. Reasoned individuals who had long been silent were mobilizing in support of their views. People who didn't care what was happening in the outer world, began to care again. They were marching, writing Congress, completing polls, contacting friends, attending Town Hall meetings, and some even taking the dramatic first step of running for public office. They were organizing into waves of action in a flowing alignment.

I'm much older now than the days when I too marched on Washington for various causes. Those marches in the 60's and 70's set in motion civil rights, the US withdrawal from Viet Nam, women's rights, Roe v. Wade and gay rights. The ones marching and lobbying today, along with those content with the status quo, will also see the results of their efforts playing out in the years to come. If actions are in alignment with a common purpose, and intended for the good of all, we'll experience the results of all their efforts.  It's happened before and it will again.  In fact, it's much like experiencing an exquisite cup of tea.

Why tea? Consider what transpires unseen and unknown behind a cup of tea. Things are happening behind the scenes.  It grows in the higher elevations of the earth. Tropical clouds
overhead create the rain that waters the tea bush. Human hands lovingly pick three or four perfect leaves from each stem, drying them for days before the crop goes to market. Auction houses buy the tea then ship it to the various countries to be purchased by brand or type by ordinary consumers.

Each cup of tea you enjoy contains an immense geological, geographical, political and social history. The visible and invisible efforts of the elements of earth, water, air, fire, and human hands create that exquisite cup. That's exactly what's happening in the external world. Our collective consciousness is affected by the activities of everyone who demonstrates for change. Some do it quietly on the internal world, seemingly doing nothing. Some do it fiercely in the outer world by marching, organizing, and lobbying. All put their desires into action, aligning with a purpose.

Wu Wei says there is "action in non-action." Whether we're active or not, the tea still grows. In time a delicious brew awaits us. Or as Julian of Norwich said, "All is well!"

                                                                                                 Jo Mooy - June 2017

Less is More

Less is More - New Habits

I learned the phrase, "less is more" while in art school in the 60's. It described simple and
minimalist forms of expression in art and architecture. It felt like Zen art, though no one called it that. Long after studying the artists and architects who adhered to that style the phrase stayed with me like a mantra. When reading wordy literature or wandering around the Baroque cathedrals of Europe "less is more" would float to mind as the ornate sculptures and paintings dazzled or begged the question, why so fussy? The same phrase often surfaced when I found myself in the tediousness of never-ending corporate meetings that numbed the senses.

Too much clutter in life can summon a "less is more" approach, so it was easy to assess the subtle influences in the outer world. I noticed that businesses changed their models of how they provide service to the customer. Strangely, they put the customers to work for the business, defining less is more in a whole new way. It was not done for aesthetics but clearly for profit. If
you needed gas for the car, you pumped it yourself. If you went to retail stores to buy anything you scanned, paid and bagged your own items. When that model claimed the restaurant industry I began to wonder. For the first time I thought that ordering food through an Ipad instead of through a waiter might reverse the phrase and prove that less was not really more.

All was not as it seemed for something else was changing the business model. Factories that once employed thousands were now doing the same work with dozens of robots and a couple of guys. The consumer-oriented society that had been propelling industry began to shift. Somewhere along the way, consumers realized they didn't really need or want all those things they were buying. Instead, they began to divest themselves of their big houses, and all the stuff that went into them. Aging demographics pushed people into downsized condos even as tiny houses or small mobile homes became the rage. At the same time, recycling programs were established in every state, allowing plastics, papers, and other products to be deconstructed and used for or made into something else.


The less is more phenomenon wasn't restricted to business. And yes, there are countless examples of it in digitized music, entertainment on the go, and the changes from computers to smartphones.  Other systems like science, medicine and religion were affected. Quantum Physics, in a tribute to "less," stripped away everything and reduced the observed world to particles or waves. Homeopathy was another that clearly showed less is more. This alternative health practice treats diseases by rigorously diluting the medicine. In another case, pain management used to be controlled with toxic medicines. Now, the pain is mitigated with acupuncture needles, using less destructive treatment options. And finally religion lost its allure when polls showed more people identifying themselves as spiritual instead of belonging to a religion. Spirituality stripped off the pomp and rhetoric and instead focused on the essence of the teachings. It recognized the common truth in all religions that God, (or an Eternal Spirit,) was inherent in them and they abiding in IT.

It became obvious that spiritual studies were not immune to the new habits of less is more. The inner work also needed simplification and uncluttering. Daily meditations were restructured. The elaborate rituals were discarded and replaced with focused breath-work practices and simple intentions. Generic "prayers for peace" were peeled back revealing that the real prayer was for
personal peace within. Within that realization the real work had begun in earnest.

Less is more can be applied to every facet of our lives. It begs strict observation and a surgical assessment of the value of everything.  It refocuses us from consumers to conservers, and destroyers to caretakers. It's not easy nor does it call to everyone to do. But, when everything is stripped down to its "Zen factor," only then can we develop an awareness of our excesses and experience the insights that will propel us to a new level of consciousness. That's the ultimate value in developing the less is more new habit. It's when we learn that everything we really need is already provided.

++++++++

                                                                                           Jo Mooy - March, 2017  

A Boot Camp Retreat

A Boot Camp Retreat 

   

Winter's news was overwhelming.  Newtown and the Boston Bombing gripped the nation.  Then congress and the senate weighed in.  Even after Tucson, Aurora and then Newtown, lawmakers still held that fishing required a license but simplebackground checks for gun purchases did not.  The moral compass of the world felt like it was spiraling out of control.  And so too were my own sensibilities.  I needed a break from the news, from external contact, and away from my normal routine.  But where?

The invitation came.  Spend ten days (twelve if you count arrival and departure days) in a Noble Silent Retreat.  It would be held in the middle of a swamp in Georgia where attendees would remain in silent meditation twelve hours per day starting at 4 am and ending with lights out at 9 pm.  Two vegetarian meals would be served.  A Code of Conduct demanded students abstain from: killing, stealing, lying, sexual misconduct and all intoxicants during the retreat. Reading the invitation I wondered if the Code of Conduct should be a licensing requirement for all government officials to hold office.  Nonetheless, the retreat sounded perfect.

On arrival day, our group of thirty men and thirty women gathered in a room to get our instructions.  Surrender all cell phones, electronics, notebooks and car keys!  Sign the Code of Conduct and get room assignments - men to one dorm, women to the other.  No talking, no sign language, no mixing with the opposite sex, no walkingin other than the approved area!  Meditation was only allowed in your room or the meditation hall! 

Days were strictly structured and disciplined.  A gong sounded at 4 am signaling the start of the first two hour meditation.  Breakfast and showering followed.  Then a three hour meditation until lunch.  After lunch and a period for rest, meditation began again until tea break in the early evening.  After tea there was another group meditation and a discourse on the teachings followed by lights out at 9 pm.  This was the daily schedule for the entire retreat.

We entered the meditation hall for the first time on arrival day where we were given our seat assignments and our first meditation instruction.  Our names were placed on small cushions lined up in rows.  That spot would be our 'home' for meditation during the remainder of the retreat.  And it did become a 'home' in a way because if someone overslept or was missing in action everyone knew immediately and the proctor would respond.

Every serious meditation instruction teaches how to watch the breath.  But this "Boot Camp" meditation training took it to a much deeper level. When you focus on watching the breath touch the edges of the nostrils for twelve hours, a shift in yourreality occurs.  The breath becomes a living entity.  It can be hot or cold, moist or dry, rapid or slow.  It can go in one nostril or both. And during each sit, the experience is different because each breath is different.
It was like meeting a new friend.

The daily training builds on the previous day's instruction.  For 3 days all we did was focus on the breath, so when Day 3 was over, your mind, which had been occupied with watching the breath, convinces you, "Peace of cake!  I've got it now!" Nay Nay!  For when the training changes on Day 4 to body sensations you feel you're back to ground zero.  The mind, held captive for three days with  breathing instruction, now had to do something different and it balked.  Old head games and wild thoughts began.  I need to get out of here; I can't do this for six more days; This is a cult; This is a crock; Who do I have to see to get my car keys?  The thoughts were relentless and I was ready to succumb to them.

Then I remembered I'd come with someone and realized she might be having a wondrous experience so it was wrong to interrupt that for her.  I fought the urge to bolt and reluctantly stayed the course.  Day 5 was a horror of experiences but on Day 6 without any conscious effort on my part, something shifted inside.  I'd wanted to get far away from news and my normal routine.  That was happening.  But more importantly I began to feel different, more connected and more peaceful about everything.  A large scorpion with stingers erect sitting near my feet did not botherme or I it.  I simply watched it, following my breath, aware of the sensations of fear give way to acceptance coursing through my body.  Then the scorpion moved on.  I also wanted to experience the magic that they promised would occur on Day 10.

I'm glad I stayed because the promise was kept.  Every person experiences Day 10 differently and I don't want to spoil it for anyone reading this.  But I can say it was worth the wait.  I'd spent 12 days with 30 women I didn't know, yet I realized I'd kindled a relationship with them as important as the relationships with people I'd known my whole life.  I'd been through the  "mind-wars" with them and 29 of us survived.  (One did not make it to the end; she left on Day 9.)  Without talking or making eye-contact we got to know each other solely through our shared experiences and the energy we created through our unconscious mannerisms and behavior.  And on Day 10 we laughed, talked, and shared what we'd experienced with each other during the silent time.

I'd learned detachment through the training of the senses in this retreat.  But that training took me to a place of wisdom and inner knowing that detachment did not mean disengagement.  I experienced the intrinsic meaning of the coming into and out of existence in all our life cycles, whether it was thoughts, feelings, sensations, seasons, or actual events.  I developed a kinship and connection with the visible and invisible worlds that had become instinctual.  I returned to the world I'd left  behind with a much better understanding and knowing that whatever was in front of me, "it too shall pass."  And I realized what the training taught me about myself - that I could endure and withstand anything!  So much so, I'll be going back again next year.

Jo Mooy - August 2013   

Zen of an Illness

Zen of an Illness  

   

The virus hit without warning.  Fever, razor blades in the throat, severe coughingspasms, muscular aches and pains, chills, and total exhaustion.  Walking fifty feet to the mailbox was like running a marathon requiring hours of rest.  The doctor confirmed my immune system was compromised from a similar virus I'd contracted in India.  He prescribed rest while monitoring it for pneumonia or bronchitis.

Because I was so ill I tried to figure out metaphysically, why the virus had returned.  Louise Hay's book, "Heal Your Body" said it was "the desire to retreat" and "too much going on at once."  Both assessments were a spot on diagnosis.   Too much had been going on in my life since January of 2012 and I desperately desired time off or to go away on a retreat.  I'd made plans to go on retreat in the summer, but my body decided it wanted a retreat now.  It reactivated the virus from India and exiled me from my normal daily routine for four weeks.

I've never sat around idle all day, but there was nothing else I could do.  The energyrequired to do anything was non-existent.  I couldn't do my daily meditation practices because I couldn't breathe and the coughing was constant.  In fact, all I could do was sleep, stare out the window, sleep, watch TV, and sleep some more.  It turned out to be a preordained retreat in its own way.

My life before the virus was active, scheduled, and focused.  After morning meditation, I researched or wrote spiritual articles, prepared seminars or retreats and planned the monthly moon meditations.  There was never time to do the ordinary or spontaneous things that most people do in their lives.  But with the virus controlling my days, I was now a passive and unfocused hostage.  There was nothing to think about, nothing to do, nowhere to go, no energy to read, no calls to make and no one to see.  My world was now focused on coughing, aches and pains, and endless exhaustion.

Molting on the sofa, I channel-surfed for hours.  I discovered a  TV show about How Things Are Made.  Apparently there's a global audience interested in how toothpicks, chewing gum, flutes, crayons, and frozen pancakes are made.  I wasn't planning to renovate anything but watched marathon shows on renovating houses, yards,kitchens and bathrooms.  With my previous life immersed in daily spiritual pursuits, mindlessly watching TV was a radical behavioral change.  But something else was occurring.

I started to intently observe what I was doing.  Zen teaches us to live fully in the moment making each instant a peak experience.  If that can be done clarity would result.  When fits of coughing erupted, I was consumed by the act of coughing.  When robotic arms created toothpicks from specialized woods, I was awed by the magnificence of splintering timber rendered small.  As old beams were torn down in renovated houses, I mourned the destruction of character and charm.  When rain fell against my window, I felt the skies weeping.  When a motionless white egret caught a gecko in a flash of its extended neck, I understood living and dying.

In the fog of fever and coughing I realized I was out of balance.  While working non-stop I had not allowed myself any time to molt, observe life, or do the things I wanted to do.  Six months ago I wrote an article called "Now What?"  The article talked of the transitory nature of life amid the dramas we create.  It told of things continually rising and falling in and out of existence.  It suggested that we just live our lives in the present and to the best of our abilities.  But along the way I forgot what I'd written.  It took a Zen virus to remind me.  

I looked up molting in the dictionary.  It means to cast off or shed skin, feathers and the like that will be replaced with new growth.  The Zen virus had become my guide.  It taught me to take time for trivial pursuits.  It gave me permission to do nothing if I wanted to. It showed me how to be quietly observant.  It held no judgments.  It allowed me to be present moment by moment.  And it reminded me that it would lurk in the cells of my body in case I forgot the lessons. 

After enduring the virus for four weeks the Zen of this illness had become the most blessed of retreats! 

Jo Mooy - July 2013