Gasshō,

Much in Zen practice encourages us to give ourselves wholeheartedly to the moment, to be so thoroughly in the moment and of the moment that there is nothing left over. This can be confusing because most conditioned humans spend enough time in unconsciousness that “being one with the moment” can seem a dangerous prospect.

Many people report starting the day with the intention to be present but end the day feeling that they missed it. They were so caught up in—what?—that the hours passed unnoticed. If asked, “What did you do all day?” they need to stop and work hard to re-construct a sequence of events.

It seems to me a very difficult place in practice to be asked simultaneously to be one with, not separate from, the moment; to lose interest in oneself; and to take care of oneself.

In the beginning of practice, “paying attention” is often a self-conscious act of watching oneself that quickly becomes exhausting and is dropped. Then the voices of conditioning point out how “you’re not paying attention and awareness practice means paying attention.” This type of “coaching” quickly descends into self-hatred and beatings and one begins to question the wisdom of ever considering waking up in the first place.

Then there’s the encouragement to “take good care of yourself.” How in the world can a person take good care of someone they forget about all day long? (And even though that person has been forgotten, they’re getting regular beatings. Certainly those beatings do not fall under the heading, Taking Good Care of Me.)

As with most things in life and awareness practice, the answer is simple. The difficulty is that we’ve had so much conditioning to look in the opposite direction from the simple answer that we can’t see it. What is that answer? The “you” being one with the moment, the “you” being cared for, is not the you you think you are; it is the you you actually are.

What?

Being one with what one is doing means there is no separate self creating an imaginary world outside the moment. Taking care of oneself means there is no illusion of a separate self to stand outside the moment and have an opinion about the person living life. To be at one with the moment means there is only the moment. To be at one with the moment is to be the moment. In the moment there is no suffering because there is no one outside the moment to suffer! (That’s why suffering is optional regardless of circumstances.)

The illusion of an “I” separate from life is maintained by attention moving quickly from “this” to “that.” The “reality” of “I” (separate self) is superimposed on what is. “I” interprets what is and maintains its illusory world. (This is what I mean by “creating the world you live in through the projections of egocentric karmic conditioning.”)*

How?

At least 99% of this (conservative estimate) happens through a non-stop, night and day, around the clock, waking and sleeping (got it?) conversation between voices in the head. An illusion of a separate self called “me” talks to an illusion of a separate self called “I.” Conditioned voices talk to “me.” Voices of self-hate talk to “me.” Endlessly. Have you noticed?

Now, technically it is not a problem that this goes on. It’s like radio or television or Muzak—it’s just there. No reason to get involved. Don’t need to take it personally. BUT WE DO! That’s the problem. Those internal conversations are created by conditioning for conditioning. They are the soundtrack to the dreary little film called, “The Life, Such As It Is, of Egocentric Karmic Conditioning,” and we are trained to take it very personally. We not only believe it and think it’s real, we think it is who we are!

Did I hear someone ask, “But what should we do?” Ordinarily that is the worst question in the world, coming as it does from egocentric karmic conditioning as a way to keep us in conditioned mind; but in this case, it is a good one because there actually is something we can do. There are two things, the first a not-doing, the second a doing.

First, we learn to withdraw our attention from the noise inside the head long enough to know it is not, in fact, who we are. Even a split second of observing it instead of being it shows us that we are not it. We can know that because when it does stop for a split-second, there we are, observing that. This is a Big Clue that who we actually are is awareness. Second, we practice turning ALL our attention to the quiet, peaceful, gentle, happy refuge of our breath.

Imagine this: You and I are having a conversation at a table in a restaurant. There’s music in the background, people around us talking, and staff bustling around serving everyone. Although we are focused on our conversation, we are aware that much is happening around us, but it’s background to our interaction. Then, periodically, the attention darts out to a snippet of talk from another table or to the ubiquitous music; for a moment our conversation is lost. The attention comes back and often the drifter will say something along the lines of, “What was that you just said? I missed it.” I missed it because I wasn’t there! But it’s a different sort of “wasn’t there” than the “wasn’t there” when I was absorbed in our conversation. In the absorbed-in-the-conversation “wasn’t there,” there was nothing left over, just the moment. In the I-missed-it “wasn’t there,” I was off doing something else.

Now this may seem like complex stuff, and it is until we see it for what it is. But as we practice being in these different “states,” it all gets quite clear. By far, the easiest place to practice is in sitting meditation. Sitting still, breathing. All the attention is absorbed in the breathing. Just breathing. Then the attention wanders. Suddenly there is “someone” to have opinions, to like and dislike, to remember, to plan, to…. Return the attention to the breath and there is just breathing. Breathing breathing breathing. No one left out. No one outside the moment. No one to suffer.

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