Distraction, Focus, and Practice
Distraction, Focus, and Practice
When training for the Ironman triathlon, I found it helpful to forget that I was training all together. The ultra-long-distance events would become easier if I mentally did something else entirely, like writing a song, or testing various running shoe or bike products. I would pretend I was creating a videoblog or product review, with witty commentary on how comfy this bike seat was feeling after the 100th mile, or other such mental distraction. Anything to make the miles melt away, and to keep the focus off the pain and exhaustion every athlete inevitably faces, either during training, or during the actual event.
I have struggled to apply the same concept to spiritual practice, but without the same success. I think for the first time I am understanding why. Meditation asks for focus on God, the soul, and the higher self, not distraction from those divine loci. The reason our will fades from time to time is because our connection with God is purposely hidden, as part of the original plan to obscure the true nature of reality from the seeker. If the finish line were laid out for us at the same location as the starting line, there would be no need to experience the race, no need to train for the race, and no sense of achievement when the 140.6 miles are complete. In the same way with God, if we understood that we were not disconnected to begin with, there would have been no reason for our souls to choose this incarnation, with this cast of characters, and with this set of potential experiences. Without maya, there is no catalyst through which we can decide to purposely direct our willpower and focus, love, indifference, or hate, and ultimate free choice, when presented with each and every potential experience, in finding our way, as lost souls, back to God.
All imperfect seekers are afraid to believe or have faith, for the fear of wasted mental effort. Building up our hearts with the anticipation, only to be let down again, is too painful for many humans to risk. This is especially true for those who have experienced significant religious trauma or been hurt by organized religion. Deciding to take the risk of mental effort is obscured by the potential that none of spiritualty is “real,” that our chosen guru, pastor, or teacher is just another charlatan, or that somehow, we are different and special and the teachings developed over thousands of years of practice before us, somehow won’t work for us in particular, or that somehow the reported experiences of others are all just some kind of vast, mental collective delusion. We may have labeled entire religions with false concepts, such as calling them "the opiate of the masses," without scientifically demonstrating the validity of the concept, or proving the concept as scientific law, in all cases and time periods.
The fear of spirituality not being real ... is so real, that many never articulate the start of the journey to begin with. If you never begin to tell the story, you won’t ever be let down by the ending.
They may never even start to tell the story of their own lives. I resist placing this experience into a coherent narrative, because even telling a story requires a beginning, middle, and end. The prospect of reducing a spiritual journey into words, only to be let down by their sheer ultimate limitation, is a very real fear. Why expend the effort in the first place, only to discover that the story has no real plot, that it had no real purpose or coherence, that the drama didn’t even make sense, or that I have no say in writing chapter to chapter anyway, that the ultimate judge is just going to do whatever they are going to do in any case, regardless of my position, participation, or feelings. Why expend the effort, if we have no real control over the story?
As Michael Singer said in one his lectures, it’s not that you can’t do something, it is rather that you are not sufficiently motivated, to do that something. Someone might say they can’t meditate, but they really mean they are insufficiently motivated to learn to meditate. Someone might say they can’t play the piano, but what they really mean is that they are insufficiently motivated to learn to play the piano. Someone would say that they could not fast for three days, but if I offered them $1 million to complete the fast, such motivation allows them to easily overcome their previous mental disinclination.
Can’t, in most cases, means Won’t.
The concept of motivation changes everything. Properly applied to spiritual practice, for me it leads to a self-analysis of everything. Why I am motivated to achieve undistracted, quality meditations? Do I want to understand the true nature of reality *really really badly* enough to put in the time, effort, or discipline, … maybe I can just be content with the illusion, watching the movie, even though I suspect it is not real, for a few more lifetimes? It has been pretty entertaining, thus far. Is it because I am seeking other means of controlling the movie, special powers, access, or insight? If that is my motivation, it seems somehow less pure a motivation. If I am merely changing the movie to another movie, perhaps more of a comedy and less painful, then isn’t that the same thing on the “purity” scale as seeking to better understand the movie in which I am already a character? How about the motivation to alleviate suffering, not just in myself, but also in others, that seems like a better motivation? The Buddhists believe in the Four Noble truths, and the existence of suffering as an inevitable part of existence. The Dalai Lama said, “Compassion is the wish to see others free from suffering.” I have never practiced Buddhism or identified myself as a Buddhist, but if relieving suffering is any part of my true motivation, then it seems like that is one I can, or should, truly get behind.
What if these too are false concepts entirely? Samadhi perhaps comes right at the stage of giving up to God, … surrendering as Mickey likes to say. It’s only as hard as you think it is. You are only in a bad mood if you think you are.
I realize that “… doubting once he had a cause, …” is, of course, no less real for the person experiencing the disillusionment in the moment, just because someone else has intellectually dismissed the entire concept, or labeled it false. Just because we might intellectually understand a movie to be fake, do we still not laugh and cry at all the right scenes? Being reminded that the movie is fake only ruins the movie for people, and would not make you a very popular person in the dark movie theater. This, I suppose, is part of the reason why meditation is not right for everyone, as everyone has a different soul journey, and there are many different paths which lead up the same mountain.
But I’ve already experienced disillusionment after disillusionment. I am done with that and “won’t get fooled again.” My soul is growing too old now.
This time it’s for Reals.