9/17/2020 0 Comments Bus Ride to SevilleAfter our group descended the mountain from our retreat in the Swiss Alps (see Real Effort #1), about 15 of us continued on our European adventures to France, (Lourdes) and Spain (Pamplona and Madrid). It had been an exhilarating and demanding trip using our Eurail passes. We slept on trains or in expensive hotels and we ate where we could. We thoroughly enjoyed the trip. We tried to live by the motto that the difference between a traveler and a tourist was that the traveler is willing to put up with certain difficulties to discover great things. Our group had planned to travel across hot, very hot southern Spain. We had decided to splurge and take a luxury, air-conditioned bus ride to Seville. We all wanted to see Seville before we traveled to Morocco. It was a lovely bus with comfy seats. For the first half hour of a four- hour trip, the air conditioning was delightful. Suddenly, there was a very loud, clanging noise coming from the engine of the bus. The air-conditioning stopped. The bus driver pulled over, checked the engine, and announced there would be no air-conditioning for the rest of the trip. Catherine and I were sitting in the middle of the bus. She had the window seat and I had the aisle. Our friends were in the rear of the bus and there was a group of older Spanish women in the front. The driver had a tiny electrical fan for himself. The temperature outside was a toasty 110 degrees. The trip continued and within minutes the inside of the bus became unbearably hot, actually stifling. It was hard to talk or breathe. The Spanish women somehow produced little hand fans that they waved around their faces. I wondered if the air-conditioning broke down on a regular basis and everyone knew it but us. The bus was traveling at about 60 miles an hour. Catherine and I thought to open the window and get a breeze. Bad idea. When we pushed the window open, it was like a blast furnace. So, we had a problem. Keeping the window open was worse than keeping it closed and keeping it closed was stifling. There was no way around this one. My thoughts raced. “How will we manage for the next 3 ½ hours?” “Will the heat get worse as we go on?” We had been on a transformative retreat in the Swiss Alps just two-weeks before and the teaching and energy we had absorbed was still vibrating in us. I wondered how I might meet our situation in a useful way. I took some very deep, hot breaths and accepted that what was happening was actually happening. I made no attempt to think how it should be or could be. I simply surrendered to the situation. Something in me let go. My typical identification with my thoughts stopped and that freed my attention. I became aware of what was actually occurring. I noticed the water, the sweat, pouring down from my head over my face, water coming from under my arms flowing down my whole body. That’s all it was, water flowing on my body. I stayed with the experience for a long while. It was possible to bring my attention to different areas of my body – face, back, legs, etc. and simply experience what it felt like. At some point, thoughts started coming again, such as “Boy, it is hot!”. But I was able to let the thoughts be and directly experience the sensation. I discovered that the water that started as sweat eventually cools down. Who knew? This dance went on for the entire ride. The effort, if I could call it that, was simply to notice my actual experience – to bring my attention to what was happening - and stay with it - surrender to the opportunity. This event occurred 45 years ago. It would not be a stretch to say that the liberation of attention from its identification with thought has been a significant part of my inner work for my entire life. As a bonus, I am now open to experiencing heat and cold differently. In many situations, I can often see the thought stream, let it be, and connect with the actual sensation. What a fortunate gift.
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9/16/2020 0 Comments Only Super Efforts Count!In 1975, I was 28 years old and feeling totally in the groove, flowing with the tide. Seven years earlier, I had ventured to Boston to find my “spiritual adventure,” and it had come to pass. In fact, what actually occurred was far beyond what I could have imagined. For seven years, I had been part of a focused and spirited group of people, mainly my age group with one mentor, Cesareo. Through a series of fortunate coincidences and good guidance, I was in my third year of law school at night, teaching high school during the day, fully participating in our own Gurdjieff inspired group, and had a budding romance with a wonderful girlfriend, Catherine, also a member of the group. I did not want to be anywhere else. I did not think of this as any kind of stepping stone to anything later. I had found my place. Cesareo was all about focus, effort and attention. He moved from goal to goal and considered obstacles as invitations to go beyond. He was a Cuban immigrant who liked saying things like “only the impossible is worthwhile.” Since I greatly admired him, I did my best to adopt this attitude. Our group intensively studied the Gurdjieff teaching (called the Work) and our primary book was Ouspensky’s “In Search of the Miraculous”. In one section, Gurdjieff explains that only super efforts count. He gives the example of a man who has walked for miles through wind and rain to get home. He finally arrives but then chooses to go out again for another hour to make this super effort. At the time, I understood this to mean that the regular efforts required to meet life’s demands were not sufficient for the Work. There needs to be a voluntary effort that is not simply to meet life’s requirements, but for something higher than that. What specifically that something higher might be remained unclear. Seeing Work in this way encouraged me to push myself whenever possible -. stand when I could sit, run when I could walk, that kind of thing. Both Catherine and I were teachers and had our summers free. Many of our group, maybe 30-40 people, were planning to go to a Work retreat in the Swiss Alps, run by Michel deSalzmann, one of the leaders of the Work internationally. Some of us had been before and it was an extraordinary experience. We could not wait to go again. For those who could stay longer, the trip would include Paris, Spain and Morocco as well as our time with Michel. Our group’s main mode of exploring was by walking, often fast walking. In keeping with my idea of making efforts, a week before we were to go, I was jogging in the park across the street from our communal house in Brookline. Eight of us had lived together for a year in this spacious, elegant, six-bedroom brick Colonial on a beautiful tree-lined street in Brookline. All was going well until I stepped into a hole that I had not noticed and severely twisted my foot. Within short order, the swelling in my ankle had tripled in size and Catherine and I went to a local emergency room. White walls, quick diagnosis -badly sprained ankle. I would need to walk on crutches and the doctor suggested rest, elevation, ice and ibuprofen. I told him about our upcoming trip and he suggested I might want to cancel. “Ha” I thought to myself, “that is not going to happen”. Catherine graciously agreed to carry “our” backpack and we both took as little as possible. The metaphor, even at the time bothered me – that I was causing trouble and she was carrying the weight. Fortunately for both of us, we have now been married for 44 years and it would be fair to say that we have both developed together and created a lasting and fulfilling relationship. We flew to Paris and had a week of group adventures filled with walking. By then, I could get by with just a cane but I was slow and the group moved quickly. Instead of my usual “obsession” with super efforts, I was simply glad not to cause too much trouble. For example, when we went to the Louvre and people spread out to see as much as possible, I was happy to spend time in one or two rooms and then rejoin. I noticed that although I was less intense about making my “efforts”, I was nicer and kinder than my usual state. I felt really lucky to be in Europe with our group and took whatever opportunity that presented itself to be helpful in any way I could. It was intriguing to me that my “disability” actually enabled me to be a better human. Our group traveled to Switzerland and gathered at a bus station at the base of the mountain. Through very winding roads and beautiful Swiss towns, I could hear “Climb Every Mountain” playing in my head. On arrival at Michel’s retreat chalet, we breathed in the utterly refreshing mountain air, and saw, once again, the simple and beautiful buildings that would be our home for the week. It had been built and improved by all the groups coming from many countries. It felt to me that we were part of this effort to offer something not only to ourselves but to others we would never meet. There was one large main room in the chalet that was used for all our indoor activities with simple re-arrangements of the furniture. Through large glass windows we overlooked a beautiful green valley and the Matterhorn. It was stunning indeed. The week, which had its own lovely rhythm of meditation, work, talks, food, and an occasional sauna was mostly over. I had many experiences of simply feeling so lucky just to be there, to be part of this remarkable opportunity. After a session in Feldenkrais-like exercises, sensing and the Gurdjieff movements run by Michel’s wife, Josee, Michel appeared and put his arms out to his sides at the level of his shoulders and invited us to do the same. I could not use my cane and keep my arms out at the same time, so I put the cane down and stood mostly on my “good” foot. Michel told us to keep our arms up as long as possible but when they came down, we were to sit down. Although he was 25 years older than most of us, it appeared that he could keep his arms up indefinitely. He added foot movements and turn arounds and other rhythms and little by little people put their arms down. I hopped on one leg and found the experience of hopping very funny. Of course, we all did our best to keep our arms up but they became heavy by two minutes or so. And then, really to my complete surprise, something “gave way” in me. The pain and discomfort from holding up my arms was not important anymore. In fact, my arms felt buoyed up as if they were being lifted by helium balloons. It was intriguing. I felt that they were being held up without any effort from “me.” I found myself smiling and the exercise became easy. Eventually Michel put his arms down and the few people left put our arms down. He asked one of our group members to bring him two glasses and some vodka. He filled the glasses and asked the person to bring me one of the glasses. I was really surprised. He kept the other one and raised his glass and toasted my effort. But before I could drink it, my mouth opened, all on its own, and I started arguing with him. I told him that it was not an effort because it was easy and joyful. He semi-joked that if I preferred, he could take the glass back. That snapped me out of trance and I then accepted his toast. When the glasses were put away, he looked at me, and with a voice filled with kindness and wisdom said, “Maybe, you now have a different idea of what a real effort is.” His voice penetrated into my chest and my never-ending thoughts calmed down for a few moments. I knew something was happening that I would need to digest. I have carried that voice with me for over 45 years as I have tried to understand and penetrate the many layers and mystery of real effort. |
David FeldmanDog walker, Dog Mediator, Father, Husband, Categories |