90 Days of ILP

During a half-day staff retreat with Diane Hamilton yesterday, we talked a lot about communication, and in that discussion I realized something: I hate listening to people talk. I cease paying attention when somethone is speaking at length on something which I find find boring, redundant, unfocused, or (hee hee) not about me. I feel as though my time is being wasted and they are filling the air with trash. I feel as though silence is a better option, and I'd prefer the world were far quieter than it is.

But then Diane said something that gave me pause. To paraphrase:

"We're afraid to fully listen to someone," she said, "because it is an act of ego death. We lose ourselves when we truly listen."

This much is obvious. I have been in green activist organizations where narcissistic personalities were able to dominate entire 3-hour consensus meetings, taking full advantage of the pluralist's tendency to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. In getting involved with the integral scene, which seems built upon layers and layers of words words words, I found this tendency even more prevalent (especially in we boys), where every third person I meet is prone to giving satsang at the drop of a hat. The thing is, some of these folks have some very important points to make. Others do not. Do I wish to sort the wheat from the chaff?

Five years ago, Buffalo, NY. I went to few sessions of an A Course in Miracles (ACIM) group which met in a New Age bookstore across the street from the same bar I gawked at woman and slurped Guiness inside of. Each session began with the passing of the candle, wherein each participant (usually 10-15 folks sitting Indian-style in a circle in the back of the store) would take their turn revealing their deepest truth at that moment. While most kept their discourses brief (if tearful), one particular individual, who looked like Michael Clark Duncan in turquoise hospital scrubs, spoke at length about his experience with alien abductions and out-of-body experiences.

Fuck.

For a full fifteen minutes I resisted, hoping someone would stand up and kick this dude in the mouth. It seemed profoundly rude, an of act antisocial violence disguised as "self expression" so vile I believed a law would be passed to ban it. But then, suddenly, something occurred to me: the whole point of ACIM was to get a direct experience of the (gulp) "power of love". As the practices used by the group were so intense they often lead to subtle bliss states (that, or I just couldn't stop looking at the Canadian stripper's perfect rack), I decided to trust in the process and actually love this dude who would not shut the fuck up.

In that instant, I felt I got the point of every spiritual teaching ever ushered: lose yourself and love unconditionally: Trust that Tyrone the night nurse would terminate his soliloquy at a reasonal point in time. Trust that he had something profound and worthwhile to say. Trust that, somewhere deep inside, he had the best intentions of everyone at stake.

And trust I did, for another 30 minutes, before hugging everyone goodbye and heading across the street, there to imbide another, more liquid form of love.



In other news, check out Sean's second foray into the world of ILP blogging. Lookin' good bro.... Blogging on this site will be intermittent in the next four days as I travel to Austin, TX for personal reasons. If I can't find my way to a 'puter, rest assured I'll be back on Tuesday. Thanks for reading.