In doing the exercise today and the one from page 99, I found that butting 2 quotes of Rinpoche’s together actually described my experience very well. The first half is from the middle of page 83 and the last half is what we were discussing at the end of our phone meeting today from page 85 —
“the ‘presentness’ of the present depends on my present presence ‘in’ it… although what appears now or will appear in the future has not yet happened, it has already ‘happeneded.'”
Unlike what was brought up today about holding on to the present as away of being anchored so as not to be swept away into the past, I feel, both while doing the exercises and while going about my regular life, like I’m standing in the present while the inevitable future whips toward me, much like a stiff wind. Â If I can stay present, I feel somewhat grounded in presentness but I am always conscious of the inevitable onslaught of the future.
My father, amongst other things, is a Cellist and has played in Symphony Orchestras from way before I was born. Every Sunday, during my childhood, we would go to see him play. As a child, I was very aware of the fact that each note being played was passing and gone AND in the moment of listening – I was anticipating the note that was to come. This carried through my life. When, in my 20s, I went to see David Bowie on his, “I’m never gonna play any of my old songs again” tour, I was constantly caught up in the fact that each note was passing and anticipating each note of the song that was to come. The act of seeing him play live was so temporal and bound to the constraints of the flowing time. I was reminded of the refrain from the Dylan Thomas poem Fern Hill, “Time held me green and dying, though I sang in my chains like the sea.”
Last week I went to see the band Tinariwen play here in San Francisco [Bedouin Blues Band. Excellent. A “must see” if you haven’t]. During the first song that played I was once again caught up in the stream of Future to present to past. But this time I stopped myself. I dropped my attachment to that storyline and simply relaxed into enjoying the present moment of the notes being played. The most amazing thing happened. An hour and a half of music flew by like it was only 5 min. At the time they were taking their bows, I thought, “how can this be over already?” My friend next to me noted that they had played for 1.5 hours straight [not including their encore]. I had to laugh. Ordinarily I would have been very conscious of the passing of each min. But when I relaxed into the present moment, without being a slave to the ‘time continuum’ narrative, time passed very differently for me.
More experinmentation with this is definitely needed. All thoughts/comments on this are most welcome.
-Diana
Hi Diana,
Your ability to listen to music, both as the child of a cellist in the flow of time, and the more timeless absorption you seem to have experienced in the recent concert, sounds wonderful. And your image of wind blowing out of the future is a nice alternative to the image of a river of time. However both seem to leave intact the paradoxes of how we can always be in the present if time is moving. Where are we? Which way are we moving? Is it us or time that is flowing? The image of a stiff wind blowing out of the future, reminds me of sailing as a child (in the three-mile widening of the Saint Lawrence river as it flows by the island of Montreal, where I grew up). Of course, when sailing a boat, if we want to go anywhere, we have to either tack into the wind or run free before it. Once when I was sailing in Montreal, tacking into a mild wind, oblivious to everything but the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull and the creaking of the mast and ropes, a powerful squall suddenly came from a different direction, throwing the boom all the way out and turning the bow of the boat completely in the direction of the wind. The wind was so heavy that the front of the boat pressed deeply into the water and we continued on this shuddering course until miles later when we reached the shore. Following up your image of the future being like a stiff wind, I wonder what is different between a boat tacking systematically into the wind, and being driven helplessly in the opposite direction. When we’re full of dread, unable to sleep, are we being driven away from the future? When we carry out our busy days, moving from thing to thing, is that like tacking back and forth, always moving toward some sense of an objective ahead of us? Although sitting in the shuddering Akroid Dingy, I felt very much in the moment. Lying in bed full of dread, I guess felt (painfully) in the moment too, but then my thoughts were all about the threat of the future. This may have nothing to do with your experience at the recent concert, in which time seems to have opened up and invited you in. Do you think that the sense of 90 minutes of clock time seeming to have only lasted five minutes, actually points to a greater volume of time, just not the kind that is measured out in a linear way? –Michael