In love with the world - 8. Varanasi rail station

Contributors

Ann, Jean-Jacques

Summary of the chapter (extract)

In the literal description of the bardos, in-between describes an insubstantial, nonmaterial state of being that is in the process of seeking to return to substance. It seeks to resolidify, and to once again become some-body. From within our material forms, we already know that generally the experience of ourselves as no-thing and no-body is simply unbearable. We humans actually cannot stand this possibility—unless we wake up and realize that this transient and fluid state is our true home.

Yet we are always in a state of not-knowing and of uncertainty. That’s the nature of existence. As a daily life experience, the bardo of becoming expresses a heightened state of displacement, of falling apart, of not knowing what’s happening. These are the underlying conditions of those times when we experience certainty and when we do not ever really change. The shift comes from our perceptions. When I entered the taxi in Bodh Gaya, the anxiety of dislocation subsided, though hurtling through the night at a speed that far surpassed the limit was hardly safe. When I was standing on the train platform, I anticipated that getting onto the train would diminish some anxiety. But the time spent flattened against the door by a human wall instead provoked more anxiety. I assumed that things would be better when I found a place to sit on the floor, but the continuous contact with strangers falling against me made me feel isolated and agitated. I thought it would be more comfortable when I found a place on the bench, but shortly after, I had panicked at the sound of the train whistle.

For the sake of social sanity and discourse, we speak of beginnings and endings. We start and end a train ride, a phone call, a day. We begin an exercise program and end a vacation or a relationship. We speak of the bardo of this life and the bardo of dying, followed by the dreamlike passage called the bardo of dharmata, and then the bardo of becoming, yet when we move past the convenience of language and categories, every second manifests the bardo of becoming. Becoming and becoming. All phenomena always just become. That’s how reality works. When we sensitize ourselves to the subtle transitions of emotions, or of bodily change, or shifts in social circumstances, or environmental transformations such as differences in landscape and light, or developments in language, art, or politics—we see that it’s all always changing, dying, and becoming.

I had thought that overnight I could become a sadhu, a wandering yogi, and drop all the outer roles at once; but I had not properly assessed the ways that these identities had become embedded in my body. I still had faith in the plan to add wood to the fire, and to know rebirth through burning up the grasping self’s influence on the senses. Without faith in the capacity to regenerate, we cannot make the most of dying every day. As I considered where to sit down, I did not even hold the illusion of locating a safe space to reassemble myself. I would find a place to sit, but it would not be a refuge. I continued to circle the station, all the while telling myself—while noting the paradox—that the cycle of samsara is not predetermined and that we are not fated to unhappy repetition.

Question

• Can you gave an example of one of your outer roles which has become an identity embedded in your body?
• What does it feel like to imagine letting go of this identity?

Meditation

• Body Scan
• Using breath to notice gaps, particularly at end of inhale, to intensify our sensitivity to change, transition.  [For added thoughts, read paragraph in Chapter 7, beginning at bottom of page 59, ending on page 60; also in Chapter 8, the 3rd paragraph on page 71.]