The Secret of Life

Halloween

I have to admit to some editorial indecision here at The Secret Of Life about whether to stick purely to life-enhancing self-development posts or to also include amusing snippets of everyday life which don't have any obvious cosmic significance. But as the next main post is going to take a day or two and I had an entertaining Halloween, I might as well tell you about it. And after all, who am I to decide what is cosmically significant and what isn't?

I usually have mixed feelings about Trick or Treat. Partly this is because I've never been sure where to draw the line between a bit of harmless dressing up and demanding goods with menaces. And partly because we didn't have it when I was a kid, so my inner child is intensely annoyed that the kids of today are having all this fun. But never mind, I tend to buy in the sweets and grit my teeth in any case. Better that than a firecracker through the door.

I suppose the most annoying thing really is having to get up every ten minutes or so to answer the bloody door. I was complaining about this to Chris and she passed on a useful suggestion for spicing up the experience from my niece, Jo.

When you open the door to the Trick or Treaters, wear a mask, says Jo. A scary mask.

They're really not expecting it...

This seemed like a good idea, so I went to the local newsagents and bought myself a mask. To my delight, they had one based on Edvard Munch's The Scream: not as scary as the original, of course, but more redolent of nameless, unspeakable horror than your usual witch or devil might be. So I went back home and gleefully waited for the first lot of spookily dressed little kids to approach the front door.

All in all, I really enjoyed the evening. I felt like I was getting into the spirit of halloween, really living it, instead of just poking my head round the door and grudgingly offering sweets to outstretched grubby fingers. It took a fair bit of dexterity to get the mask on in time, but then I would open the door and spring out at the Trick or Treaters with waving arms and occasional fearful cries...

I have to say, the kids took it pretty much in their stride. But it terrified their parents.

And I realise now that I may have solved the problem of which photo to upload for my "About" page...

The Need To Be Right

To see comments on recent posts, click here for Disorientation and here for The Image Within.

I once saw a couple arguing as they walked along the path at the side of a road. There were a lot of people ahead of them and progress was slow. The man became impatient and wanted to cross to the other side of the road, where the pavement was clear. His wife, however, wanted to stay where she was.

Eventually, the man couldn't wait any longer.

"Well I'm going to cross even if you won't!" he cried, and strode out rather angrily on his own. He went across to the opposite pavement, but his wife refused to follow. She could see that the crowds were starting to thin ahead of her.

Her husband called her to join him but she refused.

"There's no point!" she cried. "And look ahead of you, Gerry!"

She was looking at a hump-back bridge on the road ahead. As the pavement on Gerry's side approached the bridge, it first narrowed and then disappeared altogether.

Gerry saw this too but he only gritted his teeth. He had made his decision and he would damn well stick with it.  He carried on towards the bridge on the rapidly dwindling path.

"You'll get run over, Gerry!" his wife warned.

This was quite a reasonable prediction. As Gerry reached the end of the pavement, he had no choice but to step out into the road, and into the path of any oncoming cars on the low visibility bridge.

Bush and Blair would have been proud of him. In spite of the obvious folly of what he was doing, he stuck to his resolve. If he got run over, that would be unfortunate. But at least he wouldn't have had to admit he was wrong.  He lowered his head like a charging bull and stepped out into the road...

This need to be right is very deeply ingrained in us.  It's all part of the face that we show to the world.  We have to look the right way and wear the right clothes, do the right stuff and say the right things, all to impress other people - and of course we must never, ever be wrong, not for a moment.

Look at Gerry, who would rather be squashed flat on the tarmac than lose a stupid argument with his wife. Gerry is not unusual. In the heat of the moment, the need to be right can seem like the most important thing in the world, sometimes more important than life itself. This sort of thing is a common human pattern of thought - but isn't it also really a kind of madness?

Why do we feel the need to be right all the time? Do we think we're in some kind of competition? Do we want to end up in Trafalgar Square with pigeons all over us?

I think that secretly - and, in some cases, not so secretly - we do. We all want to be acknowledged for the wonderful person we know we are. Nothing wrong with that. But the trouble is we also want a bit more than that. We want to be acknowledged as being more wonderful than other people.

Few of us are greedy enough to want top billing, but most of us would like to be widely acknowledged as being more wonderful than most people - and certainly more than those people living next door.

The trouble is there's not enough relative wonderfulness to go round. If we all need to come near the top of the pile, then a lot of us are going to be disappointed. We've made the world into a talent contest, reality TV which we can't win. And the really ironic thing is this: ultimately, there aren't any viewers, so even if you win, no one's going to buy your CD.

There's one piece of good news though: Gerry survived.

And there's more good news next time...

Disorientation

To see comments on recent posts, click here for What if I lose this? and here for The Image Within.

The concern which most of us have for what other people may think of us is ridiculous at best, though perhaps there is some logic in it when we think of our colleagues at work or those to whom we have romantic intentions. It's best to zip up your fly when you go into work, for instance, and not to slurp the soup on your first date. But we sometimes seem to care just as much about people we'll never see again, people whom we may only have met for a moment.

I don't know why it is, but people are always stopping to ask me the way. Do I look especially intelligent, I wonder? Or do I look like the kind of hick who's never set foot outside of his home town and therefore must surely know the name of the street around the corner?

That's where they've got it wrong though.

I know it's called Blackduck Something, but that's as far it goes. I know that I live in the Blackducks, but whether the street round the corner is Blackduck Mount, Blackduck Green, Blackduck Terrace or Blackduck Close I haven't a clue. I know that I live in Blackduck Drive but that's about it. The exact identity of the other Blackducks is a mystery to me. I probably wouldn't even notice if one of them was pink.

But they will keep pulling up in their cars and asking the bloody way. So I try to pretend I'm not from round here. Sometimes I even adopt a foreign accent. But it gets a bit difficult when you're out mowing the front lawn. They tend to assume that you kind of, well, live there. I can see their point, I suppose. I try to make out I was just passing by from somewhere a long way away - like Kazakhstan, for instance - and just thought I'd offer to mow the lawn as a friendly gesture.

I don't think they believe me.

So we have a nightmare scenario...

I either a) have to admit I don't know where the road they're asking for is, even though it's clearly only a stone's throw away, or b) take a wild guess and send them off in what will almost certainly be the wrong direction - and in either case, they'll know I'm really stupid. They'll know that I live round the corner from Blackduck Way but I think it's called Blackduck Avenue and that Blackduck Way is round the bend where Blackduck Road really is. They'll know that I haven't the faintest clue what's going on around me. And so this person I've never met before and will probably never see again will think I'm a total prat.

Aaaagh!

How can I stand the embarrassment? How can I ever live it down?

Or - to look at it another way - why should I give a damn what this person thinks?  They'll have forgotten I even exist in a matter of moments. They're hardly going to expose me on national TV, are they? So why the hell should I care?

Because there's something wired deep down in my brain that tells me it matters. There's that old familiar voice which asks me "What will people think?"

Is there some way to get free of that fear, I wonder?

More next time...

The Image Within

An interesting discussion about affirmations has developed in the comments to the previous post, How to Have It All. Click here to take a look.

In one of those comments, Andy pointed out that we get attached not only to external objects such as houses, cars, iPods, and other people, but also to our own thought forms. We all have ideas about ourselves and what other people think of us, and our attachment to these can be even stronger than it is to our beloved material goods.

Back when I was a lad, and that was a long, long time ago, before even Mrs Thatcher ascended the throne, these sort of attachments were planted in us by our parents. I remember at the age of three having a perfectly good tantrum: spread out on the floor of the hall, lungs in full flow, and feet banging very pleasurably against the carpet, only to be told by my mother to "stop it at once". Why, I remember thinking, I'm not doing any harm, am I? I'm just trying to get rid of some negative energy here... What's the problem? I think I tried to explain this to her, but as I was only three at the time, it probably came across as "Waugghhhh!"

And then my mother came out with that killer phrase she always used: "What will other people think?"

On that occasion, it probably didn't have any effect. After all, what does a little kid care what anybody thinks about him? But after a while, as I slowly grew up, and the phrase was repeated again and again like the slow drip-drip of some ghastly tap, it finally took hold somewhere deep down in my psyche. I was no longer able to live my life in vacant abandon, picking my nose whenever I pleased. I now had an image of propriety I had to present to the world. If I farted in public, I had better make sure that nobody thought it was me.

These days, as far as I can work out, parents don't lumber their kids with such high standards. As long as they haven't actually killed anyone by the time they're sixteen, they can say they've done a reasonable job of parenting. But the kids of today aren't free any more than we were. With fewer restrictions imposed by society, they impose them upon each other. They can pick their nose all they want, but they'd better make sure they're wearing Nikes while they're doing it. The requirement to conform has been replaced by the need to be cool.

If any such kids are reading this, please understand that I know I'm speaking in gross generalisations here. The point I'm making in my daft way is this: we grow up with an idea about ourselves that we feel we have to present to the world. The precise way in which this happens may change as our society changes, but most of us never escape from it - unless we can start to realise what is happening.

More about this next time...

Over 300 Proofs of God's Existence

I thought you might be interested in this posting on Cassidy's MySpace blog: Over 300 Proofs of God's Existence. Hint: there aren't any good ones.
Just in case you were wondering,
Do I believe in god? Yes, but don't expect me to define it - I'm still working on that.
Can I prove that god exists? No.
Do I expect you to believe in god? Of course not - that's up to you.

How To Have It All

Those of you who are familiar with the mind-body-spirit shelves of your local bookshop will have heard of the idea that we all 'create our own reality': that we can create the world we want for ourselves simply through the power of our imagination. All we need to do is to imagine the mansion and the limousine and they can be ours.

I'm damned if I can get this to work for me. What about you?

I'm not saying that such an approach can't work, simply that there is an inherent difficulty that often tends to be overlooked: it isn't all that easy to think entirely positive thoughts. Some people can do it - and I rather suspect that they will be inherently successful people, who will have the mansion and the limousine - if that's what they want - even if they haven't read the 'how to' books at all. For the rest of us, each positive affirmation, each "Every day in every way I'm getting better and better!" tends to be balanced out by a distant echo of "No I'm bloody not!" or "This'll never work!" or the heart-sickeningly common "I don't deserve it!" We fail to create a positive reality for ourselves because (arguably) our own negative thoughts get in the way.

A lot of writers market techniques to get around this problem by finding ways to defuse such negative thoughts. Some of these books may be very successful. They can certainly make their writers a lot of money, and many people may find that such things work. But they are inherently sticking-plaster solutions. They don't address the root source of the negative thoughts: an attachment to the idea of having the house and the mansion, of having and doing and being particular things in the physical world.

As I discussed in the previous post, attachment to such transient things will always lead to unhappiness in the long run. Even the brand new car will rust. The mansion will crumble away. Even your brand new TFT screen will finally flicker and die. Sorry - I'm going to have to pause for a moment while I wipe the tears off the keyboard. But do you see where I'm going with this? It's only when you can break that attachment that unhappiness can finally be overcome. It's only when you no longer care for such transient things that you no longer have such negative feelings about them. It's only when you have learnt - by following Eckhart Tolle's teaching or whichever path you may choose - to identify instead with what Tolle calls "an unfathomable sense of peace" that you no longer find yourself muttering those unhelpful negative echoes.

Why should you think "It'll never work!" when you say an affirmation if you no longer care so deeply whether it works or not? And why should you say "I don't deserve it!" if you no longer judge yourself in terms of your worldly acquisitions, if  that "sense of peace" informs you that you have no reason to doubt your own worth.

It worries me here that I sound a bit like a street corner preacher, for they annoy me as much as they probably do you. But I'm not talking here about buying into some rigid belief system, which is going to bind your brains and bypass rational thought. I'm talking here about something which is real and which you can experience for yourself, irrespective of what you may - or may not - believe.

And when you are there, you can finally have it all.  "When your inner dependency on form is gone," says Tolle, "the general conditions of your life, the outer forms, tend to improve greatly. Things, people, or conditions that you thought you needed for your happiness now come to you with no struggle or effort on your part".

Why is that? Because now that you no longer need them, you are no longer afraid that you won't get them. Neither are you afraid of losing what you have. Your negative thoughts are no longer pushing these things away from you. You can finally have your heart's desire - and you can enjoy it. Yet it is your heart's desire no longer.

What if I Lose This?

(Click here to read comments on the earlier post, Multi-Tasking The Moment.)

I said I'd respond to a comment left by babenbelgium on Eckhart Tolle a week or so ago.

She said: Today I was driving to get gas and it just hit me, that right now, at this moment, I love where I'm living, I'm fortunate to have the friends I have, and I'm just loving life right now. I'm just wondering how I'm not going to loose these feelings.

Maybe there are answers in Eckhart's book and I just haven't gotten there yet.

Don't know if you'll read this, babenbelgium, but I think it's great that you really appreciate what you have in your life at the moment. A lot of people never do. They only focus on the things they don't have, not the things that they do. A lot of the time, I'm like that myself if I don't watch what I'm thinking.

As for losing those feelings, what is the root of that fear? Are you afraid of losing the feelings or are you afraid of losing those wonderful things in your life that you've mentioned? In other words, does feeling good depend on you having those things?

Looking at Chapter 8 of Tolle's Practising The Power of Now (which is the book of Tolle's I've read - kind of like The Power of Now Lite) Tolle points out that everything that you have will be gone eventually. This is simply the way of things. So if you depend on such things for your happiness, then all that separates you from unhappiness is a period of time.

Sounds brutal, doesn't it? But if we're honest with ourselves, we have to accept that what he says is true. So the only way to hang on to happiness is to no longer depend on such transient things.  Which sounds much easier said than done, does it not?

But what Tolle suggests is to practise living in the moment. That way, you will connect with something which is more powerful than any of the transient delights of the world. As he says: "A great stillness arises within you, an unfathomable sense of peace. And within that peace, there is a great joy, and within that joy there is love."

If this sounds too good to be true, it doesn't matter. This isn't about belief. This is about giving it a try and experiencing it for yourself.

And we're not just talking here about trying to stave off future unhappiness. There is also pain, here, now, while you are happy. Your comment, babenbelgium, makes clear that you are already worried about losing that happiness. In our present state of consciousness, this is how we humans tend to think. When we have something good, we start to worry we may lose it. This means that we can never be truly happy, even while we think we are. There is always that thought at the back of the mind: "What if I lose this?"

So how do we get rid of this fear? Once again, we have to practise what Tolle suggests: living in the moment. Only if we can break free from our dependancy on things, can we also break free from our fear of losing them.

I've saved the best bit till last. If we manage to change our consciousness in this way, Tolle suggests, then we are less likely to lose the good things we have and more of them are likely to come our way.

Tolle says: "It seems almost paradoxical, yet when your inner dependancy on form is gone, the general conditions of your life, the outer forms, tend to improve greatly. Things, people, or conditions that you thought you needed for your happiness now come to you with no struggle or effort on your part, and you are free to enjoy and appreciate them - while they last."

Why should this be?

This post is already long enough, so I'll speculate about that next time. For now, I'll just say that the above has been my interpretation of some of Tolle's ideas, but if anyone is at all interested, then the best thing to do is obviously to read one of his books. Or try Living a Life of Inner Peace, a talk of his which is available on audio. I particularly like this one because it's funny, and as you know I like the idea of discussing spiritual matters in an entertaining way, as I (usually) try to do in this blog. Today I tried to focus on clarity instead. I hope it worked.

'History Matters' Project

I thought some of you might be interested in this project by History Matters:

One Day in History

A MASS BLOG for the national record. The History Matters campaign has designated October 17 a day for the public to make historic. We have chosen 'an ordinary' weekday of no particular significance to ask you to write a one day on-line diary.

We want as many people as possible - tens of thousands of UK residents - to record a 'blog' diary of this one day to be by the British Library and others as a record of our national life.

Read more here

Multi-Tasking The Moment

I'd like to respond to a large proportion of Pauls' comment on "Flatpack Fun", so for convenience, I'll paste it in here:

Paul said: Tsk, Simon, the essence of humour is observation. And timing. The *two* essences of humour are... Anyway, maybe a Tibetan Buddhist would sit on the floor, but I doubt you'll find many Western Buddhists who'd choose to. Not with these knees, anyway. A duff bit of stereotyping, in short.

Hmm. I did pause for thought (briefly) before using the joke about sitting on the floor but I decided to go ahead with it because a) I thought it was funny enough (yes, yes, it was only my opinion...) and b) the butt of the piece was not really Buddhists at all but me and my terrible skills at DIY. Paul is right to take me to task however, as such stereotyping is scarcely desirable in a blog whose purpose is not only to entertain but also to try to throw some light on the underlying truths of our existence. I guess in walking the tightrope between the two, I'm bound to take a tumble from time to time, so when that happens it's helpful for people to point out that it's actually me who's lying speadeagled on the floor.

Paul continued: I always find listening to music works for me as a way of tent-pegging myself into the present moment, though I tend to grow physically restless, or start dozing, if I just sit listening to music. Some mindless menial task, combined with music listening is my perfect combination. Washing-up is not bad, but doesn't tend to take very long. Painting large expanses of exterior woodwork is another good one, but can only be deployed infrequently. Ironing a basket of clothes is ideal - needs to be done every week, and takes an hour or so. Just long enough for a long symphony or twenty tracksworth of iPod shuffling. Somehow my mind can just switch back and forth between the music and the ironing, always fully intent on one or the other, and totally rooted in the present moment.

Paul's remarks about being in the moment suggest that he's much better at multi-tasking than I am. I too like listening to something while I'm doing boring jobs like ironing or washing up, but doing both is such a challenge for my brain that I don't then have any spare capacity left to appreciate what Paul has previously called "the sheer wonderment of being where and when you are". Isn't it Buddhist practice to do only one thing at a time? This makes sense in the light of my experience, for the additional capacity is then available to actually notice what's there in the moment: to be aware of that heightened sense of reality which makes the moment so special. I guess it's horses for courses though. If music along with the ironing works for you, Paul, then go with it. I'd be interested to know what happens if you cut out the music though - and still try and be in the moment.

Does anyone else out there have experiences to add?

Flatpack Fun

Many thanks to Pat for leaving a comment on the previous post (see it here). I agree with Pat that DIY provides an excellent opportunity for living in the moment - as does life in general. Speaking personally, though, I don't find it has the same power to engage as something like writing does. There's too much scope for the mind to wander. After all, it takes a lot of time for those screws to get tightened up. And believe me, my mind does wander, allowing me ample opportunity to make all possible mistakes: drilling holes in the wrong places and at the wrong size; fitting parts in flatpack furniture the wrong way round, upside down, and back to front etc. etc. I once assembled a flatpack chair with the back legs pointing down (in accordance with the usual custom) but the front legs pointing up upwards. And yes, I'd got both legs on and all tightened up before I realised what I'd done. Presumably practising Buddhists and other people who live in the moment wouldn't make such mistakes - though as Buddhists usually sit on the floor, perhaps we will never know.