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Unfolding Silence

meditation, kung fu, and artistic research

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Ecumenism

Fragments of God

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Photo: Gabriele Goria

A friend recently asked me to elaborate a reflection on God as a Creator. Especially in front of the compelling arguments of Richard Dawkins on ‘God’s delusion’, I feel cautious at falling into this kind of debate. However, my friend’s request allows me to look closer at my current worldview.

I share this writing as a poetic window onto my quest for a meaning, and surely not as a lecture. Like a curious child, I want to explore what I see, to create connections and to play with them, asking myself once again: what does God mean to me?

God is love. Love is an experience. God is an experience. Experience is real to the extent it transforms. God is the peace which reconciles paradox and contradiction.

God, the Father: the cosmic Consciousness beyond creation. Transcendent. The Tao. The infinite. The experience of Nirvana, or Moksha. But also the Nothing from which everything originates. The number zero.

God, the Son: the all pervading consciousness within creation, from subatomic particles to human consciousness. Immanent. The God who sleeps in the stones, dreams in the flowers, wakes up in the animals, in the humans is aware of being awake, and in the saints finds Himself again. The consciousness which realizes its full expression in a Christ, or a Buddha, bridging immanence and transcendence.  The Dharma: the order of creation, or law of nature. The Tai Chi: the archetypical Supreme Polarity, guarding the seed of duality within its oneness. The number one. But also the Wu Chi, the non-Polarity. The non-one.

God, the Holy Spirit: the Amen, the Word, that is: the conscious Sound/Vibration manifesting the Creation; the energy behind the matter. The intelligent love interconnecting the whole; the spring and the engine of creation and life. The laws of physics; the Karma: the law of cause and effect which rules the Samsara, from a cosmic scale to a human scale, to the wave-like dance of particles and anti-particles. Yin and Yang in action. The number two.

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: the number three. The “three which generates the ten-thousands beings” (Tao Te Ching 42).

Creation is related to God as the body is related to the soul. The soul is both individual (atman) – to the extent a footprint, or a memory of individuality persists – and absence of an ‘I’ (anatman) – when interdependence and impermanence are found in the middle path between independence and dependence, and the soul is nothing but a pouring, a flow of consciousness constantly changing, interrelated with everything. In the same way, God is both personal – the God within me, to whom I turn and whom I listen, not in order to obtain favours, but to transform myself – and impersonal – the Being, where there is nothing to attain, where the path is the goal, where life validates itself as the sole purpose.

God happens. God is the voice whispering: why does God allow all of this? Why does God not intervene? God is me. God is the Sun reflected in thousands mirrors. Each mirror is an illusion of separation, an ‘I’ defining itself as an independent individual. God is Father, Mother, Daughter, Son, Friend, Lover. Each expression of love is a reflection of the one Love.

“The Tao which can be described by means of words is not the eternal Tao” (Tao Te Ching 1). The God you can speak about is not the true God. Words are symbols referring to an ungraspable ‘beyond’, even when they are created to indicate a very concrete object, or an experience.

But there are also performative words; expressions which form and transform. Like the sentence “I love you”, which is not a mere report, but reaches out for a connection and creates worlds of possibilities. Therefore, if “in the beginning was the Word, ad the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1,1), this Word was not a word-symbol, or a ‘finger pointing at the Moon’.

In the beginning, was the Word. I like to think that this original and almighty Word – the Amen of Christians, the Amin of Muslims, the Hum of Tibetan Buddhists, the Aum of Vedas – cannot be but one. The whisper, beyond time and space: “I love you”. And there was light.

Silence in creation – a seminar by Paolo Scquizzato at the Theatre Academy of Helsinki

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Giorgio Morandi – Still life – 1955

The artistic work of Giorgio Morandi – the renowned Italian painter and printmaker specialized in still life – is a manifest example of the artistic fertility of silence. This seminar opens a discussion on the poetics of simplicity, where the process of artistic creation is intertwined with the experience of silence and emptiness. The creative dimension of emptiness shows a path for ‘touching the essence of things’.

This seminar is open to all interested people, and will be facilitated by Rev. Henri Järvinen and Gabriele Goria. The event will take place on 2nd November 2018 at 14:00 in the Auditorio 2 of the Theatre Academy of Helsinki (Haapaniemenkatu 6).

………………………………….

Paolo Scquizzato is a secular Catholic priest, theologian, and teacher of meditation in the tradition of the Benedictine monk John Main. His research on meditation brought him to explore other traditions, in particular Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism.

Aware that our cultural age makes the encounter with scriptures and meditative practices of other religions essential, Scquizzato claims that it is no more a matter of engaging in a peaceful ‘dialogue’ with various traditions. Rather, it is fundamental to let us ‘be fecundated’ by the truths coming from elsewhere. Paolo Scquizzato is author of several books and publications on the topics of meditation and spiritual life.

Sharing silence – a public meditation retreat at the Theatre Academy of Helsinki (22-31.10.2018): call for meditators!

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Welcome to ‘Sharing silence’. This public meditation retreat is the first artistic production of my doctoral research at the Performing Arts Research Centre.

My interest is to explore formal sitting meditation as an artistic practice in its own right, as well as to understand how a public meditation retreat can contribute to this investigation. ‘Sharing silence’ rises questions about the artistic and social impact of opening a meditation retreat to a public space.

From 22nd to 31st October 2018, the stage of the entrance hall (Tori) of the Theatre Academy will host a ten-day silent retreat. The address is Haapaniemenkatu 6, Helsinki. The meditation space is for all interested people. You are welcome to join the meditation at any time of the day. Feel free to practice your meditation technique, to witness or rest. You can stay for as long as you want.

According to your needs, you can try different postures and places. If you feel like it, pay attention to your spatial relationship within the stage, with its objects and the other meditators. Before leaving, you can contribute to this artistic research by documenting your observations and feelings through writing and drawing in the ‘guest-book’.

If you wish to have a chat with me there are two opportunities for verbal sharing on the same stage: one before, and one after the ten-day public meditation retreat.

21st October, at 12:00: introductory meeting.

1st November, at 12:00: conclusion.

Retreat schedule: 22.10-31.10.2018

Here you are welcome to share silence. You can join the retreat schedule at any time, and the meditation stage is open all day long: feel free to visit the space also in other moments! However, the retreat schedule starts before the opening hours of the school, therefore the visitors will be allowed to join the retreat only from 8 am on – and in the weekend from 10 am.

4:00 am   Morning wake-up bell

4:30-6:30 am   Meditation

6:30-8:00 am   Breakfast break/rest

8:00-9:00 am   Meditation

9:10-10:00 am   Meditation

10:10-11:00 am   Meditation

11:00-12:00 noon   Lunch break

12noon-1:00 pm   Rest/walk out of the building

1:00-2:20 pm   Meditation

2:30-3:30 pm   Meditation

3:40-5:00 pm   Meditation

5:00-6:00 pm   Tea break/walk out of the building

6:00-7:00 pm   Meditation

7:00-8:00 pm   Rest/walk out of the building

8:00-9:00 pm   Meditation

9:00-9:30 pm   Rest

9:30 pm   Sleep

The school building is open at these hours:

Mon-Fri: 8am-10pm; & Sat-Sun: 10am-3pm

 

Stage design: Marianne Palojärvi

Light design: June Horton

Spiritual counselor: Henri Järvinen

On stage: Gabriele Goria

Retreat helpers: Maija Rissanen, Mirjami Heikkinen & Helena Romppanen

Sound: Kaj Wager

Camera: Jyrki Oksaharju

Photo: Evdokia Aseeva

Stage manager: Marja Zilcher

Producer: Aapo Juusti

Poster: Jaana Forsström

Special thanks: Julia Dahlberg, Outi Condit, Leena Rouhiainen, Kirsi Heimonen, Paula Kramer, Raffaele Goria, Konsta Pylkkö & Kalle Kaukonen

 

Warmly welcome!

Gabriele Goria

Meditation as an artistic practice

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Photo by: Helena Romppanen

Systematical studies on meditation and spiritual practices have increased exponentially since the early ‘70s. In academic research, meditative practices are often investigated as a preparatory training for making art. For example, the performance artist and theorist Phillip Zarrilli makes use of meditation techniques in actor training for accessing and transforming the creative process. A similar approach is carried on by Naomi Lefebvre Sell in the field of dance and somatics.

In other cases, artistic practice and meditation are combined together, generating hybrid methodologies of artistic inquiry. This line of research intertwines meditation with other artistic practices in order to entangle them into a meditative or spiritual framework. For instance, the visual artist Su-Lien Hsieh focuses on the interaction between her painting practice and several Buddhist meditative techniques, such as bowings, mandalas, and breath-awareness.

There is no shortage of examples where the artistic practice itself is interpreted as meditation. The vocal artist, performer and choreographer Meredith Monk – just to mention one – openly bridges her artistic practice to her spiritual practice, drawing parallels between the Buddhist notion of dharma and making art.

In September 2015 I have started an artistic research on meditative silence – the Sharing silence project – as a doctoral candidate at the Performing Arts Research Centre of the University of the Arts (Helsinki). The Sharing silence project provides an alternative track for developing artistic research with meditation.

In contrast with the fore mentioned examples, my work recognises formal sitting meditation as an artistic practice in its own right. My research suggests that approaching meditation as an artistic practice opens alternative and more poetic ways for investigating and communicating meditative experiences. I claim that understanding meditation as a form of art relieves its load of holiness and esoteric imagery on the one hand, and counterbalances its reduction into mechanistic neurophysiological explanations on the other.

My concern is not to expose meditation to the general audience as the object of an inquiry, but to share it as a partner of dialogue in the context of performing arts and artistic research. This work raises questions about the place and the function of meditation in performing arts, in artistic research, in academic institutions, as well as in our society.

The topic of this research derives from my lifelong practice of meditative and somatic techniques such as the Kriya Yoga of Paramahansa Yogananda – which was introduced to me by my parents in my early childhood –, Shaolin and Tai Chi – which I have practiced since 1994 at the school of Master Chang Dsu Yao –, and Vipassana meditation in the tradition of S. N. Goenka – which entered my life relatively late, but had a paramount impact on my development as a meditator. Since 2012, Vipassana has become my fundamental daily practice, and therefore will be the main tool in my investigation.

Earlier experiments

At the current stage of my research, I am working around two questions, or directions. On the one hand, I want to investigate how to unfold and enlighten the artistic potential of formal sitting meditation. On a broader scale, I am researching how participatory performances can contribute to the exploration and communication of the artistic features of meditation.

My earlier experiments consisted in developing artistic technologies for exploring and communicating meditative experiences. Drawing, movement explorations, and creative writing were the tools involved in the experiments. I developed a technique for interviewing meditators, which consisted in filming the movements of the hands of the interviewed persons, who were asked to answer through hand gestures. Even though I found the outcome of these experiments interesting from the perspective of artistic pedagogy and art-making, I wanted to focus more specifically on the practice of meditation.

Therefore, I began to elaborate participatory experiments for sharing meditative silence. These events/platforms were devised for facilitating mindful experiences and creative processes within and between the participants.

In March 2017 I started the practice of meditating one hour a day in different spaces of the Theatre Academy of Helsinki. Students and staff of the school were invited to join me in silence. This experience made me realize how the simple action of sitting in stillness triggered a complex negotiation between myself, the meditative practice, the space, and the presence – or the absence – of other people. I collected feedbacks from the visitors, by means of a guest book, where people were free to write and draw.

As my contribution to the CARPA 5 symposium at the Theatre Academy of Helsinki, I further developed this experiment by installing a meditation room in the conference building, and inviting participants to share silence. Throughout these events, I became interested in the silent dialogues generated by the spatial relationships between the meditators, the room, and the objects within the space. I documented this process by means of photos, journals, and interviews with the visitors.

Coming soon: the Sharing silence retreat

In October 2018, I will realize my artistic part, which is an essential step in my doctoral research. This production will consist of a ten-day meditation retreat, happening on the stage of the entrance hall of the Theatre Academy of Helsinki. Throughout the retreat, I will take the vow of silence, I will meditate about ten hours a day, and I will sleep in the school. People passing by will be invited to enter the space, to sit, rest, and join the meditation at any time of the day, for as long as they want. Before and after the ten-day retreat, I will organize two opportunities for verbal sharing with all interested people.

Part of my research-data will consist of my recollection of the experience. Furthermore, I will ask some questions to a small group of volunteers who will share my retreat more closely by visiting the space daily. They will write a journal. Another part of the data will come from the feedback of the visitors in the meditation retreat. I will collect their feedback by means of a free-form guest book. This live installation will illuminate the artistic and social inferences arising from displaying a meditation retreat in a public space.

The Sharing silence retreat will happen from 22nd to 31st October 2018, at the Theatre Academy of Helsinki (Haapaniemenkatu 6). All interested people are invited. If you want to chat with me, please come to the Theatre Academy on 21st October at 12:00 for the introductory meeting, and on 1st November at 12:00 for the conclusion!

Sharing silence at CARPA 5

On Thu 31 August –  Sat 2 Sept 2017, a meditation room was arranged at the Theatre Academy of Helsinki, in the Auditorium 3. This experiment was part of my artistic research on meditative silence, and was my contribution to the conference CARPA 5. All the participants in the conference were welcome to share silence with me in the following times:

on Thu 31 Aug at 12:30-13:30, and at 18:30-19:30

on Fri 1 Sept at 8-9, at 12:30-13:30, and at 17:15-18:15

on Sat 2 Sept at 8-9, and at 12:30-13:30

The meditation room was open all day long. People could visit the space at any time of the day.

A thorough report on this experiment, is now published on the online journal nivel.teak.fi: http://nivel.teak.fi/carpa5/gabriele-goria-a-report-on-the-meditation-room-experiment-at-carpa-5/

 

Retreat in Noormarkku – part seven (the end)

Sunday, 6 August 2017

 

One week is gone. My retreat in Noormarkku ends today. I dedicated this morning to the practice of Mettā-Bhāvanā: the cultivation of loving-kindness. Mettā is the Pali term for benevolence, loving-kindness, friendliness, amity, good will, and active interest in others. Goenka considered Mettā the culmination of Vipassanā practice. He insisted that Vipassanā meditators should always end their meditation with a few minutes of Mettā-Bhāvanā: the practice of radiating loving-kindness and goodwill towards all beings.

I am now on the bus, on my way back to Helsinki. I do not find it easy, to write while travelling. So, I will be brief. I want to thank all my readers for following my adventure. Thoughts of love and light go to each of you. I thank the Performing Arts Research Centre for making this journey possible. And all the amazing staff of Noormarkku. The food was delicious. The place was marvelous. I thank my son and my family, for being so understanding. And finally, I thank my friends-meditators from all traditions, who sat with me in spiritual communion, throughout this special week.

Tomorrow my everyday routine will start, and I will have to be fully present for my wonderful son, for my friends and colleagues, for my beloved ones. This retreat opened up new directions in my artistic research, and I feel inspired and grateful. My morning session of Mettā-Bhāvanā filled me with love, which I am still carrying within. But, you know, after you leave your meditation cushion, another kind of engagement with life is about of start. As Dalai Lama often repeats: “It’s not enough to be compassionate. We must act!”.

 

Retreat in Noormarkku – part three

Wednesday, 2 August 2017

Today is the day of all weathers. There are clouds, sun, rain, hot, cold, and sun again. I had the good idea of meditating three hours in a row, while this kaleidoscopic sky was showing off. I am not a fan of water sports, but this morning I was ready to get a free class of surfing… on the ocean of my wavy moods!

To be honest, on the last night I was worried about what I will write in my blog today. My anticipation of a writer’s block was fully justified, in my opinion. One thing is to meditate and write. Another thing is to meditate and publish my texts right away. I put myself under a remarkable pressure. On the other hand, this challenge adds a spice of excitement to my project. And a bit of fun is necessary not only in artistic but also in spiritual research.

After breakfast, I sat on my meditation cushion. My mental storm – which was in tune with the atmospheric turmoil – ceased all at once. I felt grateful and a bit surprised of my sudden calming down. One second of awareness was able to blow away several hours of preoccupations and elucubrations.

I started observing my respiration. After one hour, I shifted the focus to my bodily sensations. I was expecting to get bored or to be overwhelmed by cramps in my legs at some point, as it often occurs when I sit for longer periods. It did not happen. In some fleeting moments, I caressed an innocent and powerful joy that I recognised to be the hidden inhabitant of my true core. I wished to get closer to this peaceful bliss, but I knew I could not force it. There was something fragile and tranquil in the way my attention remained in balance. I wondered what I was doing different: it felt so natural to keep this steady calmness.

Goenka warns meditators about the stage of tranquillity – a mental condition where neither pleasant nor unpleasant, nor neutral sensations produce reactions. The main temptation in these cases is not the aversion/craving reaction, but rather the fall into ignorance. In fact, you might mistake tranquillity for the experience of Nibbāna. Goenka affirms that tranquillity is a sign that you are nearing Nibbāna, but he reminds his students that the experience of tranquillity is still within the field of mind and matter, the sensory field. You might get disappointed when you realize that your calmness is impermanent too, and this is the place where you loose all the balance.

Even so, there is no way to be sure that I approached the tranquillity Goenka talks about. Second, my spontaneous scepticism would avoid me to believe it in any case. Third, Goenka encourages his students to consider tranquillity too as ‘suffering’ or ‘unsatisfactoriness’:

The gross, unpleasant sensation is dukkha. The pleasant sensation is dukkha. And this subtle oscillation, which is neither pleasant nor unpleasant, this stage of tranquillity is also dukkha.

(Chronicles of Dhamma – Fulfilling the Teaching of the Buddha)

Coming back to my meditation, anyway, something different did happen. Throughout three hours of sitting I was not bothered by boredom. Partly, I relate my relaxed concentration to the fact that I am eating a bit less than usual in this retreat: a free stomach is known to facilitate mindfulness. But the real turnover for me was a simple thought: I reminded myself to equanimously observe boredom too.

Feelings are always somewhere in my body as clusters of physical sensations, even before my consciousness interprets them as feelings. In order to feel bored, I have to sense it somewhere in my body. It is hard to know which sensations cause boredom, since usually boredom arrives to me when I experience a lack of interest in honestly observing my sensations. This kind of boredom hides my expectation of feeling good, or maybe entertained. It hides my fear of facing myself as I am. Broken if I am broken, happy if I am happy. In the very end, this boredom comes because of my unconscious craving for pleasant sensations and aversion towards unpleasant sensations. As always in Vipassanā practice, awareness of sensations, and equanimity in observing them, are the highway towards a more profound joy. And from joy derives the ability to love fully. At least, this was my intuition today.

Once, I watched a documentary on John Cage, where the great artist reported a Zen quote:

If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Eventually one discovers that it is not boring at all.

Eventually one discovers that boredom too is impermanent. When I am not aware of boredom arising, it turns into restlessness and agitation. When I observe it with awareness, boredom becomes too interesting to be boring!

 

Retreat in Noormarkku – part two

Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Second day as a monk in Noormarkku. As I wake up, a sunny morning welcomes me back to consciousness. The thought of taking a walk in the woods is tempting, but I am even more excited of visiting my ‘inner garden’ right away. I sit on the soft bed, ready to meditate. For a while, I give a look around. The wallpapers provide an improbable decoration of pink leaves, which makes me feel I am having a retreat in the bedroom of Grandma Duck.

Usually, prior to the practice of Vipassanā, I spend some time with Ānāpānasati: mindfulness of breathing. Mindfulness of breathing is a concentration technique common to many spiritual traditions. Actually, before encountering Vipassanā path I did practice a technique similar to Ānāpānasati: Hong-Sau technique, in the Yoga tradition of Paramahansa Yogananda. As Ānāpānasati prepares the mind to Vipassanā, Hong-Sau precedes the practice of Aum meditation. In both cases, these techniques aim to focus the attention on the breathing and to calm the mind. In both techniques you have to observe your natural breath, without controlling it. There are some differences, though, which made my first approach to Ānāpānasati rather puzzling.

In the Hong-Sau technique, Yogananda invites his students to direct their gaze gently upwards, as if looking at a distant point ahead, through the eyebrows. This particular focus between the eyebrows is meant to facilitate concentration, and is depicted as the centre of divine perception.  Not to mention that this point in the forehead – known as the ‘third eye’ – is correlated to a physical location of brain and gland functions which directly impact on our mental and physical well being.

Therefore, when I heard Ānāpānasati instructions for the first time, I was concerned: the teacher S. N. Goenka taught his students to focus on the small area below the nostrils and above the upper lip. He did not actually specify the position of the eyes.

Yogananda recommended to keep the eyes half closed, or closed. I am not aware of discourses about possible benefits related to the half closed eyes, but this position clearly carries a powerful symbolism. For example, Yogananda describes guru Lahiri Mahasaya – which is portrayed with half closed eyes in his only existing picture – with the following words:

His intense joy of God-communion is slightly revealed in a somewhat enigmatic smile. His eyes, half open to denote a nominal direction on the outer world, are half closed also. Completely oblivious to the poor lures of the earth, he was fully awake at all times to the spiritual problems of seekers who approached for his bounty.

(Authobiography of a Yogi, Chapter I)

Vipassanā path seemed not to care much about these formal details. Goenka only said to keep the eyes closed, in order to avoid distractions from visual stimuli. At least, I was free to orientate my eyes as I liked. But you can imagine my suspicion when I was asked to observe my breathing through that exotic area below my nostrils instead than through the healthy and ‘scientifically supported’ third eye. Goenka explained that the smaller is the area of concentration, the sharper becomes the mind. In Goenka’s experience the area below the nostrils is particularly sensitive to the touch of the breath and to other subtle physical sensations, and allows the meditator to stay alert and focused for a long time.

I could not avoid a mental link, even though improper, with a discourse by Yogananda’s guru: Swami Sri Yukteswar. Yukteswar used to laugh at an ancient misunderstanding of Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtras, precisely on the passage describing the focus of the attention in meditation. Yukteswar said that some Yogis misinterpreted the Sanskrit expression for ‘root of the nose’ – i.e. the ‘third eye’ – and intended it as ‘tip of the nose’: a wrong translation, which gave birth to a habit still in vogue nowadays among some yogis, who eventually find beneficial to stare at their nose and meditate with crossed eyes… No need to say, this was not Goenka’s teaching either.

Coming back to Ānāpānasati, the most relevant difference from Hong Sau technique was that I did not have to mentally verbalize any mantra, nor to practice any form of visualization. While in Hong Sau technique you mentally chant the sound ‘hong’ throughout your inhalation, and the sound ‘so’ throughout your exhalation, Goenka’s teaching did not support this practice. Goenka affirmed that mantras and visualizations have the effect of calming the mind more quickly, but this happens only at the surface level, since the attention is carried by images or sounds which are inducted. Furthermore, the repetition of specific sounds has the power to quiet the stream of thoughts. Even though this temporary change of frequency might feel beneficial, it alters the natural status of the meditator. In the long run, you might miss the chance of observing your own true nature. Whether Goenka’s opinion is true or not, I gradually came to love his approach. The freedom from mental chanting allowed me to better focus on my natural breath. To accept it as it is. I cannot say that it is more difficult to calm the mind without mental verbalization or visualization. For me the simplicity of Ānāpānasati was a relief: I am not good at multi-tasking.

After my first ten-day Vipassanā course, I was curious to investigate what the different Buddhist schools say about the posture of the eyes in meditation. By my surprise, Zen and Tibetan Buddhist meditators prefer to keep their eyes open, in order to avoid daydreaming. A Tibetan Buddhist Lama, furthermore, told me that according to your level of energy, you can change the orientation of your gaze: if you feel tired, better to look upwards in order not to fall asleep; if you are in balance, look straight; if you are overexcited, look downwards for calming down.

The more I researched on this topic, the more I realized that there is such an amazing variety of teachings that it makes no sense to look for the ‘correct’ tradition. Each version of mindfulness of breathing presents unique specificities, which are supported and corroborated by the experience of generations of meditators.

Today I humbly started my morning meditation with Ānāpānasati. The technique is simple; the practice is not easy. It is all about awareness. And considering that I am the one who just a few days ago mindlessly threw a pair of dirty socks into the WC – maybe I believed the washing machine reincarnated into a new form – well… no matter which technique I practice, the texture of my awareness seems to be in need of special maintenance!

 

Retreat in Noormarkku – part one

Monday, 31 July 2017

This morning, the sky was cloudy in Helsinki. I decided to sit for a three-hour meditation. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in Pori, on the west coast of Finland. The sky was still cloudy, and Helsinki was doubtlessly gone. No tele transportation occurred, though: this sort of miracle happens any time you meditate in a long-distance bus!

If you are familiar with Vipassanā meditation, you know how important is to pay attention to your tiniest bodily sensations. Therefore, you can imagine how being shaken by a moving bus does not facilitate the practice. Yet, after a while you get to distinguish the grosser external sensations produced by the vehicle’s waving and all the other sensations arising from within the body. At some point you just do not mind anymore.

In the end – as far as I am able to make sense of Buddha’s teachings –, any physical sensation arises from the contact of an object with one of our five senses, as well as from the contact of a mental content – thoughts and feelings – with the ‘sixth sense’: our mind. Any of these contacts produces some sensation in the body. Sensations trigger reactions. For example, somebody approaches me with a severe and critical attitude, I feel a weight growing in my chest, I experience this sensation as unpleasant, it means I am not comfortable in this situation, solution: I panic! Reactions cannot but generate new contacts – in the example, my panic will produce specific thoughts and feelings, and eventually specific actions and words… – therefore new sensations will arise, new reactions, and so on ad libitum.

According to renowned neuroscientist Antonio Damasio, our body registers stimuli all the time. Damasio affirms that emotions emerge only after the brain registers physical changes in the body. Unconsciously, we are continuously reacting to our emotions. Damasio explains that feelings arise after the brain interprets emotions. I find Damasio’s notion of emotions rather close to the Pāli term vedanā, which, among its rich list of nuances, has the meaning of bodily sensation.  Without any claim of neuroscience proving Buddhist psychology, I like to draw a parallel between Damasio’s theory, and the Buddhist progression of four mental layers: cognition, recognition, sensation and reaction.

Shortly said, Vipassanā practice works around the assumption that sensations are the link between contact and reaction. An assumption which is made incredibly real by the direct experience provided by the meditation technique itself. By equanimously observing your bodily sensations, you train yourself not to suppress any feeling, and yet you avoid to blindly react to them. Such a non-judgmental attitude allows you to contemplate the fundamental impermanence of all sensations, as well as the ever changing flow of thoughts and feelings. This experiential wisdom makes you more ready to perform conscious and original actions out of your inner freedom. If you are simply human then – like in my case –, you become aware of how many times in life you react out of habit. And knowledge – somebody says – is power.

Arrived to Pori, I took a taxi till Noormarkku, which is the small town where my residency is situated. I will spend a one-week retreat here. Kindly supported by the University of the Arts, I will further develop my artistic research on meditative silence. In this moment, I am sitting at a wooden desk, in a wooden villa, facing a window. I am admiring a vast field of grass, surrounded by countless trees. My plan is to meditate and write, from Monday to Sunday. As simple as that.

What I am actually going to write, I have not planned yet. The point is to meditate for a minimum of four hours a day, and to just write. Each evening, I will publish a post on my blog, such as the one you are reading now. Of course, I will allow my thoughts to dwell on my artistic research, but as you can see, I might indulge in sporadic digressions…

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