Yesterday evening, Jamie was invited to attend a meeting introducing people to meditation. While not one who regularly meditates--read: ever meditates--Jamie was still interested to participate in a discussion on the topic. As an academic, he had studied Psychology (along with other disciplines in the Arts) and Religion. He was also a Catholic until the age of 17, at which time he decided this whole religion thing just didn't really have a leg to stand on (Jamie spent much of his late teens and early 20s a very angry atheist, but has recently calmed down). So he regarded the evening as a chance to learn more about a subject he often dismissed.
However, as the evening unfolded, Jamie found himself listening to people talk on a subject matter he ended up being very familiar with. He has read books on Taoism and enjoys the idea that the only thing that exists is the current moment. He's read Lao Tzu (on whose teachings Taoism is founded), and smiles when the philosopher reminds t that everything has a use--even a pile of rubbish. Among other philosophies, theosophies, and thinkers, Jamie is familiar with the Gnostic Gospels, the Old and New Testaments, William James, Carl Jung, the Koran, and the Bhagavad Gita--all of which comment at least briefly on the idea of cognitive peace. And while he is not well-versed in some tomes (except perhaps the biblical ones, for which he blames his parents), he is all the while informed.
The speaker's name, to begin with, was Saronya (a name Jamie had to fight not to mispronounce as "Sayonara"), which is a Sanskrit word. Fair enough. Sanskrit is one of the many official languages of India, not to mention very, very old. It made sense that topics as ancient as meditation would have some affiliation with their linguistic counterparts. Yet some things didn't quite fit--there was misinformation afoot.
Saronya, who dressed only in white, explained that this particular discipline of meditation (Ishaya's Ascension) was focused on "quieting the mind's chatter and employing the attitudes of praise, gratitude, love, and compassion." No surprise there. However, when she mentioned that the founder "invented" this technique in 1988, Jamie's mind began to chatter. And when she further explained that the founder was compelled to invent this technique because, in an epiphany, it "was time for these attitudes to be in the world," Jamie's mind got a little louder. But when she said "the great thinker Alfred Maslow said we have a right to be 'whole' beings," Jamie's mind could not keep to itself.
"Um, yeah. Sorry to interrupt," Jamie said politely, "But Maslow also said that you can't get to the self-enlightenment stage without first fulfilling basic needs. His philosophy was based on a hierarchy of principles and actions, not mere thoughts."
To his surprised, Saronya gently side-stepped Jamie's comment, quickly turning back to the attitudes of ascension. But for Jamie, the rest of the talk fell apart. He could not help but draw correlations between her points and other religions and philosophies: how we need praise as children (Freud), using love and compassion to quell frustration (gnostics, Buddhism), and quieting the mind for mental clarity (Taoism, Buddhism). While putting them all together was neat, it was not worth the $500 she was asking for further sessions.
At the end of the discussion, Saronya turned to Jamie and asked, "So what do you think? Will you be joining us?"
Jamie replied, "No, I'm fine actually. I'm just fine."
3 comments:
This reminds me of a time at the beginning of Feb, when Chris had returned from a retreat on the Big Island, and was at the height of self actualization (as we have discussed, and which requires no further discussion). Chris, Traci, and myself all went to Chinatown for "First Friday", the first of the month gallery walk to meet some friends and have some drinks.
Chris mentioned that he would like to stop by the yoga studio that he frequented because they were "chanting in sanskrit". It was then politely indicated that Traci and I would probably be more comfortable elsewhere, at least for a half hour or so, as he dropped in to participate. (As, you see, neither of us happened to share his enlightened state of heightened awareness, or, more likely, he was simply a little embarrassed by the whole spectacle.)
So, in the end, Traci and I say "no, actually, we don't need to play, but we would like to listen". I imagine a meditative, resonant sound; voices joined together in a low hum that plucks the guitar strings of the universe. I expect spirituality based in an ancient tradition.
Upon climbing the stairs to the studio, we are not greeted by quite what I had been expecting. What we hear is the strains of an acoustic guitar, and, though it takes a moment to sink in, we hear singing. For a moment I believe that I can almost smell the woodsmoke of the campfire as we come to the top of the stairs. Some people are clustered around the doorway, but we manage a peek in. Chris first, who smiles and waves at his yoga instructor, then looks back at Traci and I with what I can only imagine was a look of barely concealed horror.
In the room is a circle of seated (indian style, natch, smiling white people, with a not unattractive 20 something strumming an acoustic guitar, as they all sing in sanskrit. Sanskrit has never sounded so completely white before. Ever.
We last less than 5 minutes as we stand across from the doorway letting the scene sink in. Traci turns to head back down the stairs, and we follow. We reach the bottom, and Traci looks up at the window, shakes her head and states, simply and a little ruefully, "Goddamn white people. Ruin everything".
I think you went too lightly on Ms. Sanyo.
What you should have said when she asked if you'd be joining them is this:
"Meditate on this MOTHERFUCKER!!"
Man. That woulda been awesome.
What I have noticed with us Westerners and religion and spirituality is that people jump on the band wagon without much thought or analysis of what they are doing. We get off on the hype and the "love" rather than a deep understanding of the teachings. Then we slowly adapt things to suit our needs. I think the Monty Python crew had it correct in The Life of Brian - "The Shoe!", "No, the Gourd!"
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