The Encounter

by Radha Mary Straub

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A few years ago I stumbled into a room of Hell presided over by Monkey Mind. It was a foolish lapse considering my background as an instructor of Hatha and Raja Yogas, however, my so-called self esteem had been badly assaulted which—even though it is a false reality—resulted in tumultuous negative emotions and thoughts. The condition prevailed for several weeks until one day I woke up from my awful dream and decided to gather my-selves together and practice what I had previously been teaching to others seeking relief from the stresses of life.

     To break the stranglehold of stress, I would accept the remedy of the outdoors. I would seek the warmth of the Sun, drink deeply of fresh oxygenated air, and, of course, I’d meditate. It is a simple yet timeless prescription, still, precisely because it is so fundamental to well being, I should now be embarrassed to admit I’d been ignoring the wisdom of ages in favor of nurturing my wounded feelings and dwelling on the idea of a whimsical universe. I feel free to now admit my foolishness because of how the day unfolded.

     During those last gloom filled days, I’d been seeking solace in spiritual texts. I returned to the works of the great Zen master, Suzuki, and one of his special admonitions impressed me anew: “... your mind and body have great power to accept things as they are, whether disagreeable or agreeable ... for Zen students, a weed is a treasure.” It seemed quite appropriate to compare emotional disorder to a tangle of weeds, so I interpreted Suzuki’s counsel to mean one must weed one’s garden—his metaphor for clearing one’s mind of disruptive stuff. I did not expect to find treasures hidden among the weeds, I simply wanted the pain and the noise in my head to go away.

     Of course, every mystical discipline gives advice on how to maintain or recover inner harmony in a discordant world, and today even some physicians are sounding like meditating monks. Perhaps they are in fact meditators, certainly Herbert Benson, MD, (author of The Relaxation Response) cannot hide the fact that he is one. In addition to doling out the usual allopathic prescriptions, that breed of “doctor monks” affirm the power of healing prayer and the healing touch, plus they may often emphasize the need to “stay in the now,” the insinuation being that people tend to dwell far too much on the past or future, when the present moment is all we truly have—that here alone is our time of power.

     Though the formulae for letting go, or hanging loose, or getting into the moment of power, vary slightly according to the individual discipline, without a doubt they fundamentally agree that negative emotions are toxic to the body, and that one does not set about to destroy those weeds by spraying them heavily with additional toxins. The gardener is instead advised to take the path of nonresistance, to center and be, as far as possible, in the present.

     I drove to a nearby wooded area. Upon leaving my car I immediately spotted an old and regal oak tree. Its widespread branches welcomed me, so I approached it, and it allowed me to hug it for several loving moments to absorb a supply of its wonderful vital energy. That brief relaxing interlude began my meditation period of roughly one and a half hours.

     A small lake resides in a clearing there; its shoreline is probably about two miles long, just right for a walkabout. One of my favorite Zen adages is, “When walking, just walk. When sitting, just sit. Above all, don’t wobble.” So I started my Satipatthana meditation—mindfulness while walking.

     That Buddhist meditation is best described as the contemplative act of walking, of being conscious of every step, of the lifting and lowering of each foot in turn, the sensation of the foot as it meets the ground, and the thoughts “walking, walking ...” and “right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot ...” must accompany each movement during the journey. Should other sights or sounds arise, and they do, they are noted or identified then dismissed, and mindfulness is resumed.

     It was peaceful in the woods, enabling me to center immediately, to be instantly aware of each foot lifting, moving ahead, and making contact with the earth. Monkey Mind that had brought me there in the first place intruded several times, clamoring for my attention, but by acknowledging it and dismissing its efforts with the mental command, “Not nowl” it eventually weakened, then completely gave up, as it were.

     So much for persistent thoughts. But those of us blessed with all our senses also recognize externally caused sensations. These are meant by nature to anchor us to life in general and to alert us to dangers in our surroundings, so it is to be expected that the occasional sounds and sights of ordinary experience dutifully attempt to capture our attention while we’re in Satipatthana. Again, one does not strive to “turn them off,” one simply notices them or names them and lets them go.

     I heard bird songs, a frog croaking, human calls and laughter in the distance, remote traffic noise, a train whistle, a plane overhead. I heard and felt the crunch of dried grass and twigs under my feet as nature vied for my attention. Oftimes an acute awareness is a lovely experience; however, in this circumstance one does not acquiesce to be lured away from one’s original purpose. Whenever one of my senses threatened to draw me away from my intention, I named its cause, dismissed it, and resumed mindful walking.

     I traveled with downcast eyes, partly because the blue sky was so beautiful I felt I could be thoroughly distracted by contemplating it and the changing clouds, and more practically, I wanted to avoid tripping over any roots or rocks that might be hidden in the unkempt landscape. I became aware of the warmth of the Sun upon my head and wisps of precious breeze teasing my hair and rippling my skirt. I responded to these in like manner, always returning to my feet moving and transporting my body onward.

     Many sounds and tactile sensations had been noted, and now, halfway around the lake, my eyes alerted me to something moving in the grass. Coming toward me on the ground was a caterpillar clad in a coat of burnt orange which the alchemist Sun was turning to gold. The little worm’s many feet stepped along as purposefully as my own. On he forged with great intent it seemed, up this blade of grass, down that twig. Nothing disturbed or deterred him, least of all my presence.

     I sighted him, giving him my full attention, and I was involuntarily captivated by the notion that he seemed to be making a Satipatthana of his own. We continued advancing toward each other until he marched on, or danced on, between my feet, and we passed, each on our own personal mission. I did not turn my head to follow his path with my sight; I maintained my walking meditation. Nonetheless a thought, a feeling, lingered, and later as I realized the role he had played in my garden, I waxed sentimental and a bit anthropomorphic, thinking how marvelous it would be if he could know that his walk had been in a huge way so integral to mine.

The awesome metamorphosis of creeping caterpillar to brilliant butterfly is commonly used to describe the spiritual transformation of one’s soul. It is a favorite analogy of mystics. However, I cannot reveal the ultimate fate of my furry hiker. I have no way of knowing whether he went on to his metamorphosis or if he became dinner for one of the chirping birds I’d been dismissing. I am certain that for just a few seconds that humble creature became unforgettable and mighty because his destiny included only me. My moment of power.

     To be liberated, to see things freshly and new, is an almost magical thing. There is a psychological explanation for the phenomenon, but why bother? What matters is that we can be renewed, that Monkey Mind can be sent packing by something as insignicant (in the eyes of the world) as a lowly caterpillar hiking in the weeds. Suzuki didn’t mention the humor in this, but it’s there.

     One of God’s lowliest creatures, a worm that some crude people might intentionally stomp upon and song birds might necessarily devour, was destined to participate in an epiphany. It inspired a Haiku ...

Tiny worm of gold

Treading the grass

We are One

In the noonday Sun.

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Radha Mary Straub is an instructor of Raja and Hatha Yoga, Reiki Master, and practitioner of Quantum Touch. She lives in the Chicago area.

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