Vijnana Bhairava Tantra

The Vijnana Bhairava Tantra is believed to date back to the second millennium B.C. , and in its earliest form, it was purely in the oral tradition, meaning that it was chanted and memorized.  As such, it is one of the earliest teachings on yoga and meditation.  The name, loosely translated, means “The terror and joy of realizing oneness with the Soul.” 

My favorite translation of the Vijnana Bhairava Tantra is offered by Lorin Roche in his version entitled The Radiance Sutras.  In his preface to this edition he describes his topic:

A tantra is a manual of practices. This one is a book of meditation instructions, set as a conversation between lovers. The focus is on full body spirituality, being at home in the universe, and how to accept every breath, sensual experience, and emotion as a doorway into deep and intimate contact with the energies of life.

The text feels as though it was composed by a couple, a man and a woman who sang the verses to each other as they co-composed. They lived this teaching. The techniques that are described here occurred to them naturally, as an evolution of the questions they were asking of life, and their explorations of the body of love. As was the convention of the time, they frame the conversation as the Goddess and the God in them speaking. The conversation is about how to enter into the vibrant essence of the world with the dual balance of passion and detachment.

I love this teaching because it is offered in a language of love.  It is believed that the offering of deep knowledge cannot be effectively received without love; the trust of the student to receive the lesson and the love of the teacher to offer genuine instruction.  After all, isn't a true act of "making love" an act toward enlightenment?  Roche explains  the form:

The conversation begins with the Goddess asking, “Beloved, tell me, how do I enter more deeply into the reality of the universe?” In reply Bhairava describes one hundred and twelve techniques for awakening into reality through everyday life experience. Each of these is a way of attending to the rhythms, pulsations and sensuousness of the divine energy flowing through us always - and out of which we are made.

Through these techniques, we are alerted to the presence of the sacred that is always permeating our bodies. All of these methods involve savoring the incredible intensity underlying the most common experiences and they work by activating the senses, extending their range further into the inner and the outer world. The basic dynamics of life such as breathing, falling asleep, waking up, walking, loving, all of these are used as gateways into alignment and enlightenment.

Each meditation is a dive deeper into life, into the underlying reality of what life is. Balance is there at every step: the unshakable serenity of the depths is used as a foundation so that we can tolerate the electrifying vastness of the universe. We are invited to cross the threshold, walk through the guardians of the gateway, face the terrors and make our way into the immense and timeless depths that are always calling us.

When we open the doors of perception, take in this vast universe, fill ourselves with it and it's immensity, and then send it out again, we are truly becoming one with this vastness.  Herein lies intimacy, that powerfully alive feeling of grounded connectedness.

I would say that this is, in essence, the mission of the Gallery of the Senses. The Sensuist loves the intense stimulation of the senses, not out of a sort of indulgence or gluttony; rather, the Sensuist refuses to numb oneself, thus refusing to deprive oneself of the faculties which enable us to feel alive and connected with the vastness of this universe.  One of my favorite sutras as translated in the Radiance Sutras, directs in this way so beautifully:

Embrace each of your senses in turn,

Seeing as being touched by light.
Hearing as immersion in an ocean of sound.
Tasting as enlightening.
Smelling as knowing.
Touching as electrifying.

Then leave all these behind,
and be intimate with the unknowable.

Contact me to learn more about the Gallery of the Senses and my Sensuist Intimacy Coaching.  I can be reached at lcharpontier@gmail.com or 408.320.2954.  Or visit my website at www.galleryofthesenses.net

Where is the intimacy in the Akward Trap of Skewed Expectations?

It is not men in general that I take objection with.  On the contrary, I enjoy the intimacy of the connection of a man and a woman.  I do, however, object to the roles that our society is so adept at corralling us into.  “You are a man, you go over there with the other men.  And you, a woman, okay, you’re over there in that other direction.  Oh, and you’re an attractive woman, so you move on over there.”  So then we are expected to make a connection, reach intimacy with another, a man and a woman as we predominantly choose.  Yet how can I make a connection with him, when he is way over on the other side of the farm fenced up with all of the bulls?  And what if I do not want a bull?  Or if I do not want to commiserate with a cage full of cows?  How do I reach that other individual soul, which in an instant affected me, stripped of all superficial trappings? 

So I try hard, he and I try hard, but everything else is still there, all around us, also trying to shape us--chop us up into so many pieces that we no longer recognize our own self.  And then they want to mix these pieces of us up with others that they deem “our kind” until we are all one, lost in this grand mixture of broken pieces.

I still demand that we fight it, but I am only one against the many, fighting this battle alongside my partner in arms who is inclined to agree with me, but doesn’t quite fully understand.  But what are we to do when we must go out and interact in this other demanding world that never stops chattering, endlessly chatters, and chatters, and chatters this very same message?

So we tire, and we watch the very last threads of our connection disintegrate, and we secretly long to be severed while we play heartbroken.  And then it ends, and so foolish are we that in time we go right back and try to break out of the corral again, as if we have not learned that upon every attempt we shall eventually feel the sting of that whip upon our hides.
          The night he returned, the kiss was of the obligatory type—a sort of pressing of the lips together—a man and a woman engaged in a ritual that guided them as puppets through the motions already acted out by so many others long before them.  She always felt this way about those first few kisses, the first few touches.  It was almost painful the awkwardness of it all, for they were expected to reconnect in an instant to achieve intimacy with a stranger.  But how could she consider him a stranger?  Surely after seven years of living together, sharing the same bed, the same meals, the same friends, they could never again be strangers.  But in those few initial moments, they were.  Hadn’t they been living two very different, very separate lives the past month?  And their obligatory phone calls were strained, searching for something, wanting a connection of spirit in lieu of the presence of body.  There were exceptions, of course, when she feared for his life after hearing of the escalation of violence in the far away place to which he traveled.  There were even occasions when the brief phone calls brought heated yearnings for the physical connection of the two lovers.  But now, at this moment, he was a stranger.

          It would have been fine, but they could not break free of the expectations.  She would have liked to enjoy his strangeness, and approach him as the stranger for whom one has so much curiosity.  But he would never have that.  In the past it was fine that she had met him at the airport in her long coat which betrayed the lace and silk beneath when her stockinged leg remained uninterrupted by the line of a skirt.  But now, she should be too “mature” for such games, and besides, she was too tired anyway.  And so they remained, caught in this sort of awkward trap of skewed expectations.

-a work in progress by Lisa

Flow

This Saturday I attended the sixth annual Flow Show in San Francisco.  From their website:

Celebrating its sixth year in San Francisco, The Flow Show SF is an innovative showcase of object manipulation that will change your idea of movement. Sometimes known as “spinning”, this group of movement disciplines all share one common trait: the manipulation of a “prop” or object.  This year’s cast includes flow artists exploring artistic themes with poi, hoop, staff, buugeng, ball, and other props, all in the intimacy of a dance theater setting.  Combining elements of dance, circus, and theater, with mind-blowing dexterity, timing, and expression, this groundbreaking show will take you on a creative journey through flow.

As promised, it was an evening of "mind-blowing dexterity, timing, and expression."  As a hoop dancer, myself, I am particularly drawn to the hooping performances, of which there were fewer than I had hoped to see, but the other acts were engaging, indeed!  The energy was inspiring and invigorating, and I was most affected when an inanimate object became animated through the talent and love of the artist.

So why "flow?"  The coined term "flow" comes from Hungarian psychology professor, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.  He explains it as such"

Imagine that you are skiing down a slope and your full attention is focused on the movements of your body, the position of the skis, the air whistling past your face, and the snow-shrouded trees running by. There is no room in your awareness for conflicts or contradictions; you know that a distracting thought or emotion might get you buried face down in the snow. The run is so perfect that you want it to last forever. 

If skiing does not mean much to you, this complete immersion in an

experience could occur while you are singing in a choir, dancing, playing

bridge, or reading a good book. If you love your job, it could happen

during a complicated surgical operation or a close business deal. It may

occur in a social interaction, when talking with a good friend, or while

playing with a baby. Moments such as these provide flashes of intense

living against the dull background of everyday life.

These exceptional moments are what I have called "flow" experiences.

The metaphor of flow is one that many people have used to describe the

sense of effortless action they feel in moments that stand out as the best

in their lives. Athletes refer to it as "being in the zone," religious mystics

as being in "ecstasy," artists and musicians as "aesthetic rapture." 

It is the full involvement of flow, rather than happiness, that makes for

excellence in life. We can be happy experiencing the passive pleasure of

a rested body, warm sunshine, or the contentment of a serene

relationship, but this kind of happiness is dependent on favorable

external circumstances. The happiness that follows flow is of our own

making, and it leads to increasing complexity and growth in

consciousness.

 Visit http://wiki.idux.com/uploads/Main/FindingFlow.pdf for Csikszentmihalyi's full article.  

This concept of flow requires attention; specifically attention to the present moment, senses engaged.  This feeling of flow makes time stop while the delicious energy of what it is to live surges through one's body.  Stress, sadness, overwhelm melt away under the heat of this intensely alive state.  When I spin with my hoop, I go to another world, and somehow I understand so much.  You go there, too, when you engage in your experiences of flow.  But if you don't go there or don't often enough, I invite you to visit my website at www.galleryofthesenses.net, send me a note at lcharpontier@gmail.com or call me at 408.320.2954, and let's talk about bringing more flow to your life!

Beautiful Faces

 

Beautiful faces look up at me each morning when I awake.

Beautiful faces smile, giggle, chatter on relentlessly, offer besos, produce tears.

I have planted seeds in my garden.

I did not know I yearned to be surrounded by these beautiful faces.

I did not know my world was incomplete.

My seeds grew and this took my breath away.

I touched the profound.

I became another.

I became myself.

Beautiful faces came and washed away all that I was.

I once saw you in my reflection, but I didn’t know it yet.

And now my garden is filled with beauty.

I must tend to it, I must tend to it endlessly.

I give you water, remove the pests and weeds, I bring you sunshine.

Beautiful faces are my sunshine.

-I wrote this inspired by my lovely, lovely children.

Embodiment

In our age of massive industrial production, surreal consumption, euphoric communication and fictitious digital environments, we continue to live in our bodies in the same way that we inhabit our houses, because we have sadly forgotten that we do not live in our bodies but are ourselves embodied constitutions.  Embodiment is not a secondary experience; the human existence is fundamentally an embodied condition.  Today, our senses and bodies are objects of ceaseless commercial manipulation and exploitation.  Physical beauty, strength, youth and virility are adored in the realms of social values, advertising and entertainment.  In case we fail to possess ideal physical qualities, our bodies are turned against us as causes of deep disappointment and guilt.  With ever-accelerating frequency, all our senses are exploited by consumer manipulation, yet at the same time these very same senses continue to be undervalued as prerequisites of our existential condition or as educational objectives.  Intellectually, we may well have philosophically rejected the Cartesian duality of body and mind, but the separation continues to rule in cultural, educational and social practices...

Human conscious is an embodied consciousness and we are connected with the world through our senses.  Our hands and entire body possess embodied skills and wisdom.

-Juhani Pallasmaa from The Thinking Hand

House as Mirror of Self

I recently discovered a book that looks at our human connection with our homes in an intimate way unlike any other I've ever read.  It is written by a UC Berkeley Professor that I have studied with in the past as a Landscape Architecture student.  The book, House as Mirror of the Self: Exploring the Deeper Meaning of Home, by Claire Cooper Marcus, looks at our home not as a financial investment, a trendy place to decorate in the latest fashion, or even a mere shelter.  Instead, it shows how our psychological development is punctuated not only by our relationships with the people in our lives, but also by the close ties we form with our physical environment, our homes in particular.  As Carl Jung poetically illustrates in his autobiography Memories, Dreams, Reflections, we are continually manifesting our unconscious, and our home, if at harmony, reflects this manifestation of our deepest selves.

I have had two great loves of home in my life-- my childhood home, a 1500 acre ranch in the high California desert; and the home where my children were born, where I built the garden of my soul, where I sanded and stained hardwood floors, and where I awoke each morning to birdsong and a lush green garden surrounding my bedroom.  Both were lost to me in very emotional circumstances.  I know, however, that they will always be within me, and my energy remains with these two very special places.

Because I have always felt this profound connection with place, I have spent my schooling and professional years exploring this connection in one form or another.  Psychology and Philosophy brought my gaze inward, as I yearned to explore this amazing world within.  Later, Environmental Studies and Landscape Architecture drew my gaze out and emphasized the connection between myself and place.  I am now bringing this together through Sensuist Intimacy Coaching.  In the Home of the Soul and Garden of the Soul, I have implemented some of the exercises suggested by Marcus, some of which I completed when I was a Landscape Architecture student.

I truly believe that with an open heart this process leads to profound personal insights.  It can be a very emotional journey, as it certainly is for me.  Most importantly, it will help us to create a home that is genuine to our truest of selves, that is nurturing, that is, indeed, sacred and carved out for us to be ourselves.

As we rush through our days, surrounded by the concrete jungle of our cities, perhaps working in windowless environments, and often remaining untouched, we numb.  We forget who we are, who the small child from years ago aspired to be.  We are neglecting this child, and we must bring this child home.

Part of the process of the intimacy coaching is the authoring of a brief environmental autobiography.  We write about a childhood place that we found most formulative.  This process brings our mind back to a time when place strongly formed us as we were beginning to see ourselves as unique entities.

Marcus writes:

Our senses have a way of reconnecting us, without warning, to memories of times and places long ago, and in particular to memories of childhood...Childhood is that time when we begin to be conscious of self, when we start to see ourselves as unique entities.  It is not surprising that many of us regard that time as an almost sacred period in our lives.  Since it is difficult for the mind to grasp a time period in abstract, we tend to connect with it through memories of the places we inhabited.

This is our foundation; is our foundation built strong, or is it crumbling?  This we must understand.  Years ago, while studying Landscape Architecture, I  wrote my own environmental autobiography.  This is what I wrote:

My most formulative childhood environment was our family's ranch.  I spent my childhood on the ranch, and, for me, it was magical.  We had a long, winding driveway which lead into the main entry court, encircled by our guest house, barn, shops, and corrals.  Beyond this, my grandparents' house and my parents' house sat connected by a bridge over a quiet stream.  Further yet, were acres of alfalfa fields.

This environment formed me as I was so involved in it.  I awoke early in the morning to feed the cows and cut the fields with my grandpa.  Throughout the day, my brother and I would explore the river near the perimeter of the ranch or hike out in the fields.  Our play was imaginative, always exploratory, always adventurous.  In the summer, when the haystacks mounted, we would make forts within the stacks, and run, and jump, and hide in crevices. 

My grandpa always had a large garden.  When my brother and I were young, my grandpa would carry us out into the garden.  As he patiently and caringly watered the plants, he would lift us up to pick cherries or a pear.  He would then pull out his pocket knife, and carve right into the pear, and hand us little bite-size pieces.  He would also peel us fresh corn, little fuzzy heads pulled right from the tall and mysterious rows of stalks.  Surely they were sweeter than any candy.

The strongest presence in my childhood home was my grandpa.  For me, he was the ranch.  It cradled me in its arms, as did he.  It provided me shelter and warmth, as my grandpa did.  It taught me and inspired me.  It was a place that I felt distinctly "home."  Because of the connection between my grandpa and the ranch, the places which made the strongest impressions upon me are those where I spent the most time with him-- the garden, his home, the fields surrounding the lake in front of his home, the swimming hole.

It is clear to me that this place remains with me in all of my designs, and in most of what I do.  Because this place has so strongly influenced me, I do now realize that as magical as this place was and still is to me, it might not be to others.  Nonetheless, I feel that I can still use its influence on me to help others because through this place, I have known a place of magic; and knowing that feeling of magic, I can strive to create that for others.

I recently brought my two young children on a journey back to the ranch.  Because our family had to sell the ranch, it had been decades since I had been there.  I had heard that it had changed quite a bit.  I didn't know the current owner.  I really didn't know what to expect...

Tentatively, we drove up the long, winding driveway.  I was so happy to be on this lovely adventure with my children who've known this ranch as an almost mythical environment.  When we reached the entry court, I almost expected our dogs to come out barking to greet us.  Where was my grandpa?  Who would come out to tell us to go away?  We parked and saw no one.  We got out of the car on this hot summer day, and my children began to look for arrowheads, as my brother and I did so many years ago.  Still we saw no one.

I began to feel more comfortable, and we walked further.  The kids asked to go to the river.  As we approached, a deer bounded away, surprised to see two-leggeds.  Yet we saw no one.  And then I knew that this was an opportunity that I could not let pass by for my children and I.  We climbed down the heavily vegetated bank to the shallow river, and we walked along looking for water skippers and crawdads.  We cooled ourselves on this hot day of temperatures exceeding 100 deg F.

I then gave up looking for others, and decided to make believe, just for a few hours, just for our little adventure.  We took off our burdensome clothes and dove right in.  We played with each other in this beautiful sacred place, and we delighted our senses, imprinting beautiful memories of connectedness on our open minds.  We fed ourselves juicy fruit, sandwiches, snacks; everything tasted so good.  We lingered.  We couldn't bare to say goodbye, all of us three.  These hours spent were such full hours of connection.

As the sun began to set, I was awakened back to reality, and so we dressed, and slowly made our way back to the car.  No one found our presence on this special day for which I am deeply grateful-- a day of deep connection with my children and this beautiful, sacred place which nurtured me and contributed to my ability to nurture my children.

Friendship is bigger than we know

I recently watched the film "The Whale," and I was mesmerized.  This film is quietly, profoundly beautiful.  To me, it is about intimacy, it is about connection, and we see through the teachings of a youngster how much we have given up when we decided to lock ourselves up in geometric structures feeding on manufactured foods and television screens, afraid, indeed, afraid to touch or be touched and lost from our natural path.

From the official film website http://www.thewhalemovie.com/story.php: 

"THE WHALE tells the true story of a young, wild killer whale - an orca - nicknamed Luna, who lost contact with his family on the coast of British Columbia and turned up alone in a narrow stretch of sea between mountains, a place called Nootka Sound.

Orcas are social. They live with their families all their lives. An orca who gets separated usually just fades away and dies.  Luna was alone, but he didn’t fade away. There weren’t any familiar orcas in Nootka Sound, but there were people, in boats and on the shore. So he started trying to make contact. And people welcomed him. Most of them.

This contact did not turn out to be simple. It was as if we humans weren’t ready for him.  Inspired by myths, we look into the sky, not the depths, for others who might think and dream like us. We train radio telescopes on the stars, and listen for code in the static of space. But maybe we’re looking in the wrong place. So far, space just crackles, but the sea whistles back. And, in Nootka Sound, it sent us an open-hearted child.

This story is about what happened then."

The mythologist Joseph Campbell tells us about the progression of the human gaze.  There was a time when we were gatherers, living off the land, and finding what we needed to survive solely in the plants of the land.  The plants, those life-giving beings, were holy to us; and worship and ritual was offered to their honor.  Later, hunters turned their gaze to the animals.  Prior and consequent to going on the hunt, hunters would engage in ceremony, and once an animal was sacrificed, it was honored and thanked for the gift of its life, to sustain the life of the hunters and their families.  As such, we saw our place within nature and animals were worshiped as holy.  At some point our gaze turned to the stars and the heavens.  Religions that looked upward certainly looked down on the plants and the animals, and humans placed themselves apart from and above the Earth, the plants and the animals.  And it is here that we find ourselves today, separated from our natural place and thinking that because we are better, we have permission (manifest destiny) to exploit the others.

The film makers ponder:

"For many years we have been curious about what it will be like when an extraterrestrial appears among us. Will things be chaotic? Will they be exciting? Will they be dangerous? Will there be controversy? How will we recognize this stranger? What will we share? Will this be joyful? Will it be sad? Will it be the best thing that ever happened?

Maybe it will be all those things. Maybe it will be just like what happened when a little lonely whale tried to make friends with us lonely humans in a place called Nootka Sound.  THE WHALE celebrates the life of a smart, friendly, determined, transcendent being from the other world of the sea who appeared among us like a promise out of the blue: that the greatest secrets in life are still to be discovered."

And so it was, this youngster brought us a message that I believe we ignore at our peril.  We need each other.  It is only with deep, meaningful connection that we can survive and thrive.  We are all connected whether we acknowledge this fact or not.  We can push ourselves through traffic into sterile buildings through stressful days back into the car only to collapse after just barely keeping up.  Or we can decide to say no.  We can choose to get to know who we really are, who those that share our lives really are and how we fit into nature.  It will be the best thing that ever happened.