Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Impotence of Words
I made substantial progress in my training this past week. I should leave it at that and end this post right here. Because the progress I made is not very explicable. The progress was internal, and like all things internal, external words never do justice. Specifically Monday night's Aikido class and Wednesday morning Taiji were instructive. I crossed a point, hit a new plateau. Although in each case the point was different, it essentially is the same thing. At least part of the process was in my ability to leave my self, my ego, at home and give in to the movement. Of course that is what we strive for, and I can say I have made progress over the years. But this week was different. The change was substantial and noticeable. Rather than being me moving, I felt I transcended dualism and became the movement. And it stayed with me. It was noticeable Thursday as I plowed through the general insanity of the work-day-world. It was noticeable last night in Aikido class and when I did my Chen 48 form this morning. It is noticeable right now as I pull words together and try to explain the inexplicable. The change was arrived at through training and it applies to my art as I continue to train. But further, it carries over into my world. And that is the benefit we strive for: not only to be more in tune with our art, but to be more in tune with our world. If the nature of the godhead is change, then perhaps it is therefore divine to change. As we change our world changes to accommodate us and so follows our further experiences till we are no longer who we once were. And that is just the beginning of the path.
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5 comments:
It's great to hear about your progress. Being able to find the next plateau is always a fulfilling experience.
Also, I know what you mean about not being exactly sure how to put it in words. It's like trying to mold fog sometimes.
Thanks for the comments Matt. Even now, I almost regret even attempting to explain the inexplicable.
I guess that's part of the curse in being a writer.
We are living in the shadow of a religious programming that runs incredibly deep—a religious programming that has us question the value of form and the body—of creative manifestation. We dare to make copies of God. Hello… we ARE God. How can we make copies of ourselves? We create! We love! We express! We transform and project energy in patterns. What else is there?
The feminine has taken such a beating. Form rocks. Form is beautiful and compelling. Tao expresses Te. Consciousness requires both awareness AND the “aware of” and so we may witness ourselves though we are one—the one and the many simultaneously. What glory would there be were there no way to appreciate the divine? The divine must witness itself. It absolutely needs form to do this, whether it is words, movement, or the incredibly deep and subtle inner recognition of self.
It gives me so much joy to hear you express your appreciation for what is whole and exquisitely true in yourself—and I totally got it from your post. The waves of your recognition have hit me and affirmed something. That is so powerful. We judge expression. It is ridiculous. Do we judge trees that appear to be missing branches? No. It is part of their perfection.
Are we really looking for a way beyond form? I don’t think so. We seek purity, and oddly enough it is already there. The question only remains as to whether we can see it as such. We enter doubt and suddenly the sky looks a bit gray. Life is subjective. We see what we are. Can we see our purity—our godliness? It sounds to me from your post that you did just that.
Wow, Benjamin.
I hesitated to even post this entry because, As I said, it is hard to find the words to express experience. I think you have done that very well here. Thanks for the confirmation.
Before I became better acquainted with the internal martial arts I questioned what was often said and written. I mean, "Enlightenment through Aikido"? Doesn't that require sitting, contemplation, getting beyond the self? And movement is the self. But I used to be much smarter than I am now. I have learned to empty my cup, so to speak, to becoming more comfortable with not knowing. What a gift to give myself, huh?
Thanks again. I value your input.
Don Juan in Castaneda's books is always bounding about light as a feather for an older man. The effortlessness that is present when you walk around with an empty cup. The joy that rises and saturates our bodies when we let nature be.
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