A Curious Foundation

Lately, I find myself sitting with the magnificent state of curiosity. Over the last six months, I have had the tremendous pleasure of meeting and sharing conversations with extraordinary, kind, and above all, curious people. The basic framework seems to be expansiveness, possibility, and openness to the world, and a genuine engagement with the conditions that effectively allow experiences to work themselves out. I repeatedly come back to the question and reflection of my own curiosity, and a wish to foster, support, and cultivate this foundation. From time to time, I even feel a worry that this curiosity will vanish, and that I will stumble upon my last question. I don’t want to reach the conclusion, the last question, though I certainly will admit, an “answer” to the great mystery from time to time might not be such a bad thing. Nonetheless, I hope to encourage the expansion of the questions, allowing a significant multiplication of ponderings, about life “out there” and life “within”, as if those were separate and distinct experiences anyway.

As I move into another year, another decade, and mull over the uncertainty, I am also trying to give increasing attention to what shines forth from my heart, carefully noticing where my heart is pulling me. In parallel, wondering if it is possible to allow the mind to slow down, catching the incessant and circular rumination, and to rest “in the heart.” To be an observer of the heart’s longing. The uncertainty scares me, and with humor, I know that nearly, if not, all things are uncertain. For many years, I figured if I could learn the totality of secrets, the deepest wisdom, I would be prepared and ready to set forth and embark across this ocean of living. Yet, the world is constantly shifting and changing, as if there were such a static state to be ready for. Conceptually, this is understood, now it is a matter of a genuine embodiment of the principle.

As experience demands my attention, and I am pulled here and there in attendance, I wonder about slowing down, at least internally, to participate in the subtlety of “the moment” in a fully engaged manner. Fully engaged, similar to a state achieved up in the high mountains or on the Jiu Jitsu mat. Can the mere and mundane moments be transformed into deep states of flow? For me, I think a big part of the effort is slowing down, observing all the subtle details with intrigue and interest. The mountains provoke this easily, as much is demanded from me simultaneously, each step requiring a commitment, not to mention the awe of wilderness around and within.

Whether I am in the mountains, at home, working, or playing, or, god forbid, relaxing, the practice is ongoing, if I so choose. The practice of fully showing up, with curiosity to the unfolding experience and reality, and even more so, in an open and embracing way, quietly excited for the simplicity of the waking moment. While many things around me feel as though they are rapidly accelerating and scattering about tugging along a scattered mind, I wonder if I can peacefully counteract these forces by finding, feeling, and settling upon the ground beneath me. A truly settling and grounding effect, slowing down enough to see what is before me, and to sense where I am.

In Yoga asana, we reduce to breath and movement; of course, there are many variations and approaches, so forgive me for generalizing, as the practice extends far and wide. The reduction to breath and movement oddly has the ability to create and produce space and silence. In the space and silence, we begin to see clearly, as the mind slows way down, but for a moment. We do this over and over again, the repeated effect starts to expand in duration, and silence and spaciousness consume us. Now, we are getting somewhere, but remember, there is nowhere to get to, as we are already there. The paradox of practice.

This is one significant realization, but for some reason the sustained embodiment remains far off and out of reach. Why?

Every day I have to remind myself of the intention, that is, to live intentionally and with presence. Every day, I make space for practice, hoping that slowly I can come back home to myself, and even more so, over time, this state sticks around for longer periods of time. Fortunately, the practices are joyful, and simple joy has a compounding effect. I am realizing, better late than never, that it is in the simplification of my life, that joy grows bountifully. Thus, I will continue to strip away, reminding myself of the first and foundational principles, and leading a life of questions, curiosity, awe, and wonder.

With much gratitude,

Tyler