Éviter les contrefaçons (Avoid fakes)
In aid of making a major move (more on that later) I spent some time sorting through the long-neglected items in our basement storeroom, which is to say our entire basement. In so doing, I came across one of our middle son’s paintings from grade school that was lovingly kept, along with a large box of comics that he and his brothers had collected from the shop beside Sophie’S Cosmic Cafe (at the time our family’s favorite dining place) and other such precious childhood mementos as a parent is wont to save. Needless to say, the painting was no Monet. But, fast forward to today, and our middle son has made a name for himself as a shame educator, blazing his own trail as boldly as the legacy of my favorite painter, and founder of the artistic movement known as Impressionism, Claude Monet.
One of the reasons Monet’s works remain universally popular is the remarkable visual depth of his paintings. What few people know is that, while he often applied opaque colors straight from the tube to his canvases, he achieved an incredible depth of field by also applying multiple washes, thin layers of very dilute colors that the eye/brain will register unconsciously, and almost literally dive into the scene. It is a long and laborious process for which few artists today would have the patience. Which is why, even to the amateur eye, one can usually discern an original Monet from a fake.
As the remarkable works of art that all human beings are, we too consist of multiple layers, facets and attributes which make us, on one level at least, the unique characters that we are. But to identify with our uniqueness is to fall prey to an illusion of separateness; we often fail to perceive just how much we have in common with others, and our surroundings. One of the greatest obstacles to recognizing our common bond is what Eastern yogic philosophy calls Maya.
Maya, or illusion, is a very tricky thing. Think of it as a film, indeed several rapidly shifting films, being projected on a blank wall or screen. It’s easy to imagine getting so engrossed in the images on the screen that one does not remember the blank wall upon which the films are projected. Only when the projector is turned off are we once again aware of the backdrop on which all of these impressions fall. Suppose we don’t like what we see on the screen? Are we aware that we can turn the projector off, and voluntarily restore the expansive space that is our true nature, our consciousness?
Knowing that we can indeed turn off the projector is a first step in regaining control of our thoughts, our illusions, and the course of our lives. Without knowing it, we colour, filter, distort, and label what is right in front of us. Needless to say, we are not really seeing ‘what is’. We are seeing a combination of what is there, and what we filter out or fill in with our repeated thoughts and conditioned beliefs. The sum total of which can be attributed to our false self, or ego. Our egos, with their opinions about good and bad, right and wrong, desirable and undesirable (and our attempts to attract or avoid the latter) become the arbiter of our experience.
“Ego is, in a sense, a false thing, but it isn’t necessarily bad. You have to start with ego, and use ego, and from there it gradually wears out, like a pair of shoes. But you have to use it and wear it out thoroughly, so it is not preserved. (Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, Meditation in Action).
Trungpa explains:
“The clarity of our consciousness is veiled by prefabricated concepts, and whatever we see we try to fit into some pigeonhole, or in some way make it fit in with our preconceived ideas. So concepts and theories—and, for that matter, theology—can become obstacles”. (Ibid)
According to Trungpa, the way to transcend these obstacles to our clarity of consciousness is through some form of meditation, some form of stepping away from the program or storyline our egos have created. While there are many other credible methods, the practice that most appeals to me is Trungpa’s basic form of meditation: cultivating awareness, or simply trying to see — and connect with — what is. The basic pattern of this kind of meditation, which Trungpa calls Vipassana or insight meditation, is built on three fundamental factors:
“First, not centralizing inwards; second, not having any longing to become higher [or other that what you essentially are], and third, becoming completely identified with here and now.”
This does not require the arduous efforts at purifying or perfecting myself that some books and teachers advocate, and which are no doubt laudable, in their own way. If anything, I am advised to examine — one by one — my concepts and ideas and, if not discard them entirely, then see them as part of the content of the movie that I have historically identified as “me”. I am encouraged to undergo a process of asking myself which of my cherished beliefs are real, and which are false, supplied by my ego to help survive the scrum of daily life. In order to do this Trungpa advocates beginning with the same breathing technique that I have found useful for calming myself and letting go of charged emotions. Simply focusing for a few minutes on the breath, inhaling to an easy count of three or four, and exhaling in the same way, allows the distractions and feelings of the moment to drift quietly away, Trungpa’s wearing out of the ego.
From this space of egolessness, however temporarily, I can track my footprints in my journal, and be my own devil’s — or divine — advocate. Through a consistent dialogue with myself I can better see what, under honest scrutiny, rings true. Or false, as the case may be. Only I can assess if my thoughts and speech, words and deeds are authentic to me, and congruent with the ideals I seek to embody. The results of this self examination can be revealing, indeed. As Lao Tzu said: “Knowing others is wisdom. Knowing yourself is Enlightenment.”
Or, as the French might say: “L’habit ne fait pas le moine”: The vestment does not make the monk. Or yogini.