Robert Augustus Masters

Robert Augustus Masters is an integral therapist and spiritual teacher living and working near Vancouver, British Columbia. His work emphasizes embodiment, authenticity and deep shadow work – with a connection to Being and the process of Awakening to (and as) What-Really-Matters forming an important foundation of his work. I first heard about his work through Jana on the Integral Naked website, then read his book Darkness Shining Wild - which totally blew me away and I thought, “I've got to meet this guy!” In Robert I feel I've found my first true teacher/mentor, and I've introduced a number of other people to his work, all of whom reported themselves very impressed, and several of whom have gone on to do more work with him.

When I was a moderator on Integral Naked I was delighted to be able to arrange for him to do a dialog with Stuart Davis – the dialog gives a good overview of his approach to therapy and I highly recommend it – and I also moderated a Question and Answer thread with him in that forum for several months. When I hosted an Integral Gathering in Vancouver in June 2006, a workshop with Robert was a central (dare I say integral) component of the weeklong gathering, and several of us did additional individual and couple sessions with him before and after the workshop – thus helping to transform the entire week into one big workshop.

I'll quote some material from his excellent website to give you a better idea of what he's all about. I highly recommend his books, although the essays and other material on his website - including a blog he recently started, and a free monthly newsletter - form an excellant introduction to his work.

From Robert's website:

My passion is to fuel, illuminate, and support the living of a deeper life, a life of love, integrity, and full-blooded awakening. Providing environments (both inner and outer) in which deep healing and transformation can take place is my vocation and privilege.

As I ripen into my late 50s, seeing more of what is out of sight, I am finding freedom more through intimacy — intimacy with all that is — than through transcendence. There is deep joy for me in passing on what I have learned, most recently through my apprenticeship programs and my newsletter.

Since 1977 I’ve worked as a psychotherapist (I have a Ph.D. in Psychology), group leader, bodyworker, and teacher of spiritual deepening practices, creatively integrating the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual in my practice. Evolving in fitting parallel with this has been my writing. I’ve authored seven books, and have several more closing in on publication. My essays have appeared in magazines ranging from Magical Blend to the Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, as well as in several anthologies. My poetry runs rampant through all my writing, keeping my prose on its toes.

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Here is a link to the Integral Naked dialog: Radical Intimacy and the Search for a More Integral Wholeness

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

A comment from Robert on shadow work in the context of spiritual teachers, part of Q&A Part 21:

A. Jana/Plasmafly asks:

Robert you appear to be the most nondual of teachers around in your “embrace” or facing into the darkness, as I am sure you have an intuition as that being the way to liberate the light, and those in your sphere are perhaps more alive than the average human because of it. I suspect that this talent for acceptance was something you were born with and then cognitively/heartly developed overtime…and especially with your Darkness Shining Wild experience.

I imagine that your acceptance is probably one of the main factors in the success of the healing work you do, and the “rapidity” of shifts in aliveness/awareness in your clients and that it must be grounded on a radical acceptance for yourself first.

Whereas it seems like a lot of teachers/gurus/spiritual leaders are still actually afraid of shadow/thanatos…perhaps because they are still power driven..so they must still be non-accepting of themselves, still dualistic and this in turn would keep followers triggered into punishment/reward–parent/child dynamics which would hinder both nondual realization, health, wholeness and sovereignty…and hence they forfeit their contribution to evolving society itself and are locked hopelessly into personal preoccupation…nurturing and fortifying the shell instead of the Spirit.

Also do you find people in your sphere to be artistically inspired by your open elan? Showing a more perfect marriage between the imagination and cognition…right and left brain.

Robert answers:

The more authority and power we have, the more important it is that we work, and work deeply, with our shadow elements. Paying lip service to such work just does not cut it. Real shadow-work is not some cut-and-dried intellectual process, but rather a viscerally compelling, emotionally raw journey into territories that more often than not elude any neat cartography.

It is, of course, tempting to remain in the shallows of such work, feeling a bit of strange or unpleasant feeling perhaps (but nothing strong enough to truly shake us), gathering a little insight into our darker inner workings and desires, but at some point we need to take the plunge, and really get into working with what’s submerged, ostracized, disowned, numbed, and just plain fucked-up in us, and this is an inherently messy undertaking, given that we’re allowing the surfacing of what we’ve spent most of our lives keeping down.

For a while, we may – especially if we’re in denial about our own shortcomings – trot out our good points (and have those who are “loyal” to us do the same for us), obscuring what is not working in our lives with what is working, but sooner or later we’ve got to cut through the bullshit and do our work, whether we initiate the process or not. Especially if we’ve got others looking up to us, or looking to us for guidance!

The good news is that the more deeply we work with our shadow elements, the more liberated energy we’ll have, energy that can be put into serving our well-being and that of others. We don’t have to announce to others that we’ve done some really deep and thorough shadow-work; our having done so is enough, making us a conducive presence and safe place for others to deeply encounter and work with their own shadow stuff.

We’d love to get to the treasure without having to face its dragons, but face them we must. And thank God for them, because they – through what they demand of us – make sure, and really make sure, that we are ready for what they are guarding. Our task is get intimate with our dragons, so intimate that we not only can look through their eyes and feel their pulse as our own, but also pass by them without any fuss. Although this is far from easy, it must eventually be done if we are to truly access the deepest treasure of all.

The dragon is not the problem. Our distorted connection to it is. Must we armor ourselves to face it? Must we literalize our adversarial link to it? Must we treat the dragon as a mere obstruction, a lower-brain roadblock in need of dynamite, cognitive rehabilitation, or spiritual remedies? The dragon is not in the way; our lack of healthy relationship to it is. We make it into such a solidly alien “other” that we feel justified in conceiving of it as something to flee, attack, or treat as imaginary. We turn it into an enemy, and it behaves accordingly. Keep something in the dark long enough and it’ll get warped.

If we condemn or flee anything in ourselves, it will multiply and fester and eventually occupy every exit, enlarging itself so as to seize our attention, encoding its outcast will throughout the apparently healthier regions of ourselves.

When we cut others close to us too much slack in working with their shadow elements (perhaps because we’ve got a tacit deal with them that we won’t rock their boat if they don’t rock ours), we’re simply creating the conditions that will eventually rock us (and them) so strongly that we’ll have to deal with what we’d rather avoid.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

From Robert's website, here is an essay by Robert on faith:

Faith is intimacy with not-knowing.

F. Rassouli ( www.rassouli.com )

Faith is forged in the crucible of our suffering, emerging as a dynamic openness that helps us navigate those zones of ourselves commonly submerged in darkness, despair, and depression. The presence of faith, however, doesn’t necessarily mean we will have clear sailing or an easy time. Even when our faith is strong, we may still find ourselves down in the mud on our hands and knees, but not so inclined to make ego-suffused drama out of our situation.

Faith responds to problems, but not on the level at which they occur. That is, faith assumes a nonproblematic orientation to problems, providing a spiritually intimate openness that holds us and our areas of concern with great care.

This openness – a sacred enfolding – contains without binding, and releases without abandoning. Its value is verified by direct participation in it. Direct experience, not belief, provides the relevant data or material – physical and otherwise – through which faith is cultivated, known, appreciated, and more deeply known.

Faith is not a kind of belief or cognitive exercise; it is much deeper than any mental construction. And nor is faith merely a type of hope – hope is rooted in the future, faith in the present.

Where hope promises, faith gives. Where hope dreams, faith awakens.

Where hope is nostalgia for the future, faith is acceptance of the now.

And this is not a blind, defeatist, narrow, misguided, or submissive acceptance, but it is an acceptance nevertheless – and a largely unresisting acceptance – unpolluted by hope and other romancings of tomorrow.

Faith deepens through situations that test it. Without such conditions, faith remains in the shallows.

Pain comes with Life; what better use to make of pain than to deepen our faith? Instead of turning our pain into suffering – that is, dramatizing it, with us playing victim or pawn to it – we can use its energies to fuel our way into a deeper life, a life abundant with faith. Then suffering is not so much a fall from Grace as it is Grace in its dark, deglamorized disguise, providing the very conditions through which we can more fully awaken from the entrapping dreams we habitually populate.

There is perhaps no more worthy gift to have than unshakable faith.

What does such faith mean? First, a strongly felt connection to Being, in conjunction with the recognition that that connection still exists at those times when we don’t feel it. Second, a non-despairing abandoning of all hope of fruition, an unforced letting go of being invested and caught up in particular outcomes. Third, a developing of the kind of patience that waits without waiting, that endures without having to have a clear endpoint. Fourth, a dynamic embracing of not-knowing, honoring the knowledge-transcending Mystery of Being. Fifth, accepting what is exactly as it is, including one’s feelings and intentions and actions regarding it. And, last but not least, cultivating gratitude for what one currently has, including the ability to develop faith.

Faith makes us feel good even about not feeling good.

If our faith is well-rooted, we usually do not forget it for long – we cannot help but remember what gives us faith, even when our remembering is gray, thick, or far from stable. Faith is not an antidote to our suffering, but rather a compassionate space for it, wherein we can more clearly hear and sanely respond to what our pain is saying to us.

Although faith may not make pain go away, it changes our relationship to it in such a way that we’re less likely to turn our pain into suffering. So faith does not necessarily still the storm, but allows us to be with it – and to become intimate with it – without losing track of What-Really-Matters. Spiritual stamina.

Faith teaches us not to control, but to let be. This is not mere passivity nor some sort of spiritualized irresponsibility, but rather a kind of potent quietness or stillness out of which can emerge fitting action, choices made by something wiser than our minds. When our faith is strong, the necessity of the situation is the only catalyst we need.

Faith is frequently made synonymous with what is commonly referred to as “blind faith.” But real faith is far from blind; though it may sometimes lack clear vision, it knows the way by heart, even if it has to inch along on its belly through the sniper fire of doubt.

Faith allows us to live sanely and compassionately in the midst of all that is happening. Bad days don’t destroy or cripple it.

In fact, bad days actually strengthen it. So for faith, suffering is not just bad news. However, the presence of faith does not mean an end to difficult states – as in some fantasy of saintly detachment – but rather an appropriate context for them. Bringing things to an end is not the point – radical trust in Being is.

Faith is the unresisting embodiment of such trust. Faith is the highest form of devotion. Faith is the heartland of sacred patience, explaining nothing and revealing much. Through it, we find the necessary energy and endurance for the most significant journey of all.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

see also Robert's blog on The Deepening of Trust.

arthur

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

see also Is There Anything More Real Than Dreams?

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Arthur,

Jesus, this man is on fire.

best,
Michael

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Michael: Arthur,

Jesus, this man is on fire.

best,
Michael

~~~~~~~~~~

Indeed.  :)   I was very pleased when he mentioned recently that he's going to start doing work in California again - whoo-hoo!  I was concerned that I wouldn't have access to his therapy/workshops when I'm down in sunny California for at least a year with my partner, but not to worry on that score.  I feel very grateful to Jana for introducing me to Robert's work and to Robert for making his radically embodied integral wisdom so accessible to us all.  Grooviness Shining Wild.  :)

arthur

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

see also: An Expose of Flirting.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

“What does such faith mean? First, a strongly felt connection to Being, in conjunction with the recognition that that connection still exists at those times when we don't feel it. Second, a non-despairing abandoning of all hope of fruition, an unforced letting go of being invested and caught up in particular outcomes. Third, a developing of the kind of patience that waits without waiting, that endures without having to have a clear endpoint. Fourth, a dynamic embracing of not-knowing, honoring the knowledge-transcending Mystery of Being. Fifth, accepting what is exactly as it is, including one's feelings and intentions and actions regarding it. And, last but not least, cultivating gratitude for what one currently has, including the ability to develop faith.”

This is a wonderful explication of real faith. I have been blessed with this type of faith, and my life is a crazy, fabulous roller coaster ride as a result. Grace flows through and all around, while I rest in spacious awareness. Sure, at times, when emotional contraction comes on strong, it's like screaming down that first plunge on the traditional roller coaster; you know, the old wooden ones that shake you to your bones and make you feel like you just might loose your grip and pitch out of the car. But to still have the connection to Being during that, even if it's to scream, “Fuck You!!!” is a wonderful, life-opening, radical experience. (I always apologize later!) 8P

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Thanks Colin for highlighting this paragraph. To me its a very soulful sense of faith, and here in this rather dry city of straight lines, I am in need of the soulful!

XGitanjali

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Wow, that's stunning.  It reminds me a lot of Adyashanti's description of trust in an autobiographical talk he gave, which I think adastra posted somewhere around here.  Even just reading this has stirred my heart more than a bit.  Thanks for sharing this.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

In another thread, Blue commented: “adastra, thank you very much for the pithy RAM comments on death.  The writings you've posted by him are kind of like an ideal multivitamin–highly condensed and loaded with easily digestible spiritual nutrition.”

I love that description.  Damn, I'd love to see some form of that blurb on the cover of a book.  :p

Here's another great essay by Robert, from his website:

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

see also Taking Charge of Our Charge.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Here's an amusing essay by Robert from his excellent book Divine Dynamite, an expanded edition of which was published recently. 

Sloth and Torpor - Robert Augustus Masters

It's really hot outside. Clear sky, no wind, neuroses out getting a tan. I'm staring out my window. Words come thick and slow, reluctantly surfacing, resisting my command to line up into some sort of topic. Sometimes having nothing in particular to say says all that is needed, whatever the fuck that means. Maybe I should just head for the beach, slalom through the browning flesh, and cool off, get up to my neck in the probably still cold waters. But that means driving down to the beach, 5 minutes or so away, but maybe 15 hot-oven minutes of trying to snare a parking spot. Funny how I have energy to complain, but not to get off my ass.

Even starting a new paragraph is labor. So why don't I just shut up and quit? Writing usually comes easily to me. It'll be cooler tonight - I can write then. But the words keep coming, however sluggishly. Buddhist texts list among the hindrances to waking up the following duo: sloth and torpor. I'm guilty of both. They give laziness a nice ring. Have you ever watched a sloth move? My whiskers grow faster. And torpor - just the sound of it makes me want to have a nap. Who cares if it's only one in the afternoon, and I've only been up for two hours?

Sloth might be a bit better than torpor. Imagine conscious sloth - after all, moving very slowly can be very spiritual, can't it? Think of Buddhist meditators doing mindful walking, as if auditioning for The Living Dead. But conscious torpor? A contradiction in terms. The sunburnt blubber littering the local beach is about as alert as the fried jellyfish along the shore's edge. I'm slumping at my desk. Maybe I should do a bit of yoga, or even go to the gym. The thought makes me slump more. Sloth and torpor - what a great name for a law firm, or a geriatric rock band.

I'm not going to pull myself out of my sluggish mood just so this essay can take a turn for the better, like a tedious film that finally manages to cough up a car chase. Is there anything more exhausting than enthusiasm pushing its agenda? I can see myself later on looking over these lazily wandering words and trying to extract something that is essay-worth. But I say to that unslumping wordsmith: Go fuck yourself. I don't even yell it. It's more like telling him to get his own beer. I'm not walking that far. I don't even have the juice to get the remote control in my hand. The couch will probably just stick to my skin. Maybe we need more support for complaining. I don't mean conscious complaining - that's too spiritual, too much work. Just everyday bitching, with all of existence being our uncomplaining ear.

Another paragraph, your unroyal laziness. I had a smoothie an hour and a half ago, and it's still hanging out in my stomach. Maybe I should just lie down. Or go drink some water. I'm always telling my kids to drink more water, and I'm sitting here feeling dry-throated, and won't get off my chair. Look at me sag as I write. The words come slower, reluctant little turds dreaming of making a big splash. I smile, but don't have the juice to laugh. I've never felt bad about sloths. If torpor was an animal, it would be a sloth on valium, the far shore of mellow.

I still have no feeling of where this is all going, so I'll let it go where it wants to, namely nowhere in particular. I could, of course, jump from this into some kind of reflection on ontological positioning, but I am thankfully not in the mood to do so. If you've stayed with me this far, you might as well stay for the ending. Have you ever been at a movie, found it boring or tedious, and stayed anyway, perhaps hoping that it would eventually get better, and then found yourself there at the movie's end, really irritated at yourself, wondering why you stayed through the whole damned thing? Welcome to the end. Don't sit around waiting for the credits. There aren't any.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Still my favorite “essay” by the other BBG.

Liz

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

That's GREAT!

I absolutely love it!

Simple witnessing awareness, diving deep into that which IS. Awesome.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

When Spiritual Life Really Begins - Robert Augustus Masters

When your honeymoon with spirituality ends–and it will end, marked by the arrival of STDs (spiritually-transmitted disappointments) – and when your affair with being spiritually correct and spiritually in-style runs dry, you may say so long to spirituality, but it is a premature goodbye.

Disillusionment with spirituality is not only inevitable but also necessary, so that spirituality might be thoroughly deglamorized.  When that disillusionment has had its say–cynicism's couch now being no more than a pain in the butt–and when your fear of re-entering the spiritual no longer frightens or disturbs you, your spiritual life really begins.

Most of the books will be gone; the ones that remain will feel like old friends you don't tire of revisiting, even if only for a page or two every couple of months.  Most of the practices will also be gone; the ones that remain will feel as natural to slip into as your favorite jeans or T-shirt, at ease with both being worn and being worn out. Most of your aspirations to be spiritual will also be gone; the few that remain will feel less like aspirations and more like unforced inhalations…

Whatever disciplines we take on will result not from one aspect of us dominating the rest, but rather from a core recognition of what is needed…Instead of being at war with our weaknesses, we bring them into our heart.  Instead of trying to get rid of what we don't like about ourselves, we develop a better relationship to it. Intimacy thus becomes more our path than transcendence.

Seeking will become supplanted by living a deeper life. Questions will still arise, but will ask for something more real than answers.  Alignment with the Real will become the ground rather than the goal. Details will cease being just details.  Focusing on might be will yield to focussing on what's here now; that is, hope (nostalgia for the future) will be replaced by faith (radical trust in the now)….

Your longing to be fully awakened will still be present, minus the desparation and ambition that once characterized it. Where once you were in a hurry to get it, now you are not rushing or pushing, having accepted the fact that you are in it for the long haul.  Then, even when you are off track, you are on track.

Life after spirituality is the beginning of authentic spirituality.  No fireworks, no applause, no pats on the back from the Important, no need to present oneslef as someone spiritual. This is the beginning of true nobody-ness.  It is not annihilation, but revelation.  It is at once bare yet sentient openness, and also the beginning of true individuality.

For every question that arises here, Silence is the answer. Put another way, everything supplies the answer.  Nothing is explained, everything is revealed.  Beyond knowledge, Wisdom; beyond paradox, Truth; beyond self, Being; beyond everything, everything….

Life after Spirituality is committed apprenticeship to What-Really-Matters.  All that happens is the practicum. Every situation offers the same fundamental opportunity.  The teacher is everywhere. There is no freedom from our Freedom.  No escape. The implications of this froth then still the mind, awaken and release the body, ground and expose the soul, unravelling all our dreams, breaking us open to what we were born to do and be….

Life after spirtuality is a constant dying. Emerging from our own ashes becomes no big deal, but just the way things are….

(Excerpted from Robert Augustus Masters' May 2006 newsletter)

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Lately I've started adding quotes to the Robert Augustus Masters section of the awesome zaadz quote repository; I invite other followers of his work to do the same if you like.  :)

arthur

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Another essay by Robert from his blog:

BREAKING THE GRIP OF PERFECTIONISM

Nothing haunts like perfectionism.

And perfectionism is not about to give up the ghost without potent intervention, which begins with seeing perfectionism through eyes other than its own.

The addiction to perfection that pollutes much of contemporary culture is perhaps most eloquently and disturbingly illustrated through the hypernegative body-imaging and anorexic behavior that possesses so many girls and young women. A flat tummy, envied by many, is not good enough for the woman hooked on somatic idealism; her tummy has to be a more concave shade of flat, and has to be closely monitored to make sure that no trace of fat somehow infiltrates her waistline. She may have a flatter-than-flat belly, and still suck it in, as if leaning toward invisibility – she both aches to be seen as immaculate beauty incarnate, and aches to disappear, knowing that she cannot ever really measure up.

No reassurances from others of how beautiful she is can make any real difference, for she has already convinced herself that she is not, and cannot be, beautiful. Perfectionism has her under its thumb, and doesn't give a damn about her screams and suicidal urges. She is always in perfectionism's cold mirror, having not yet learned to hold up a mirror to her perfectionism itself.

But once she does, she is on her way out of her hell. All she has to do is keep that mirror in place, and to name her perfectionism when it arises. She might call it something a touch simpler, like her “inner critic” – but whatever she names it, the point is to make sure that she names it (so that it ceases referring to itself as her, or as her higher self, her conscience, and so on). Once she has established some distance from it – through naming it and working on its underlying dynamics – she can then start developing a relationship with it. As she does so, the constituent elements of her perfectionism will become more obvious; for example, she might recognize in its voice a certain tone that her parents used when they were, however inadvertently, shaming her.

To work skillfully with our perfectionism is to work with our shame. Shame is not always easy to recognize, for it often quickly mutates into other states, like withdrawal or aggression. When shame and fear hook up, guilt results, and guilt is perhaps the state most deeply employed in keeping us stuck. Guilt keeps perfectionism in business, by splitting us into a “bad” child and an overseeing, unforgivingly critical parent. To move beyond this, we need to recognize within ourselves – and more than just intellectually – both the childish and the parental sides of guilt, and identify with neither, being instead the space, the wakefully compassionate space, in which they arise. Not so easy to do, but do it we must, if we are to graduate from guilt's stalemated domain and the toxic perfectionism that supplies both its whips and the excuses that justify the whipping of the “bad” side of guilt by the “good” side.

Just like guilt, the Freudian superego - our inner supercritic - may successfully masquerade as conscience, but it is too much of a nagging parent, compulsive faultfinder, and perfectionist to assume the position of conscience with any real authority. The superego - which, like ego, is actually not an entity, but rather an activity or process - is devoid of compassion, whereas conscience is inherently compassionate.

As was suggested above, it is useful to identify the indwelling voices pretending to be our conscience. If a particular voice speaks cruelly or overcritically to us, we'd likely do best to direct its contents to our trash bin. This means, among other things, that we must learn to relate to our minds, emotions, and perceptions, rather than just from them. To this end, non-dissociative meditative practice is essential. When we clear away the rubble - through working in-depth with our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual dimensions - we find our conscience intact and clear. A diamond in the debris.

Keeping an eye on our inner critic not only helps prevent it from playing “I,” but also allows us to mine it for any gems that it might contain, like intuitions or insights that we might not otherwise be able to access. But to thus mine it, we need to keep the lights on, so that we can see where we are going.

Our inner critic, especially in its perfectionistic mode, can easily tyrannize us, keeping us a captive audience to its views and certainties. Like young children who don't question what their parents are doing, even when it's abusive, we usually don't question what our inner critic is doing. It plays parent, and we play child, and the play that follows is often far from playful or kind. Our inner critic finds fault with us, and if it can't, lets us know that we had better maintain our lofty standard, or else – which, of course, generates enough pressure to ensure that we will, sooner than later, slip. Our inner critic insists that what it is doing is for our own good, as it immerses us in should after should. So much to should-er…

The inner critic's grail is perfection, not just momentary excellence, but ongoing ultra-excellence, 100 percent grades, etcetera. It degrades us for not making the grade. We may act as if we are victims of it, but we are not; it only exists as it is because of the unwitting attention we have learned to give it. Even when we have seen it for what it is, we may get critical of it, perhaps thinking that now we have the upper hand, but all we've really done is given our inner critic new clothes and a “higher” seat in our headquarters. Freedom from our inner critic does not mean an end to being judgmental – for being judgmental comes with having a mind – but rather a relocation of judgmentalness to a place in us where heart and wakefulness coexist.

Once we learn to relate to our inner critic rather than from it (that is, speaking to it rather than as it), we can become intimate with it, knowing it from the deep inside, so that when it arises, we recognize it almost immediately (through changes in our feeling tone, posture, bodily tension, and so on). Through such recognition, we are not at its mercy, but instead can choose how to deal with it. We may withdraw our attention from it – thereby reducing its ordinarily authoritative voice to less than an echo – or we may explore it, checking out its anatomical peculiarities, sifting through its predictabilities for nuggets of insight.

In the beginning stages of dealing with our inner critic, we may entertain the fantasy of getting rid of it (which is akin to the egoic longing to eradicate ego, a favorite pursuit of more than a few spiritual paths), but later, as we realize that we just ain't going to get rid of it, we start to change our relationship to it. Eventually, we reach such intimacy with our inner critic that we have no concern about its presence, any more than the sky is concerned about its clouds. And then we recognize, right to our marrow, the perfectly imperfect way in which our life, like all lives, is unfolding.

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

I enjoyed those quotes, thanks Arthur.

/P

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

see also  RAM on Rap
                 Women's Rage
                 Rabbit-Proof Fence and Racism
                 When Relationship Leaves the Shallows

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

see also We Are Never Not In Relationship
                 What Am I Taking From You?
                 The Non-Nonduality of Nondual Teachings
                 Lady In the Water

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Re: Robert Augustus Masters

Robert Augustus Masters on Meditation:

In a Q&A session with Robert Augustus Masters a while back (in another forum) Rhonda/Feral asked, “Talk to me about meditation. Why would I want to do it? How do you find a practice that is right for you?”  Here is his response:

~~~~~

Let’s start by saying that meditation is the art and practice of being aware of what’s happening as it’s happening, while taking into account that this is a deceptively simple statement, given that “what’s happening” is not necessarily what it appears to be. What follows fleshes this out. As you read it, I suggest that you soften your belly, and remain aware of the arising and passing of each breath; when your attention drifts away, simply return it to your breath, noting, if possible, to what your attention was pulled.

Meditation simultaneously roots and wings us, helping us to abide in and as Being, while enhancing our ability to take care of the business of daily life (if only through keeping us present). Nothing could be more practical than meditation.

In the beginning, meditation is a practice of the self. Later, meditation is a practice that renders transparent the self. And still later, meditation is a practice that opens us until we are but openness itself, embodying what is obviously more real than the self.

That is, in the beginning, we meditate; later, we allow meditation; and still later, we are meditated. This makes sense not to the rational mind, but to that which cannot help but be aware of the rational mind. Meditation radically decentralizes egoity.

That is, meditation undoes, unravels, renders ever more transparent, the very self that seeks and attempts to meditate. That self, that knot of subjectivity velcro’ed to spiritual ambition, views meditation as a remedy or as a means to an end, but meditation – if entered into with sufficient commitment – undresses and unseats that self, cutting through its reign of us, leaving in its wake what we’ve been all along.

(Are you still aware of breathing?)

When we allow ourselves to be centered not by our separative selfhood and its self-obsessed subjectivity, but rather by Being, meditation finds its true depth, the vast dimensionless presence of which unmasks, uproots, and ultimately dissolves our mistaken case of identity.

Meditation includes the overlapping practices of (1) making space – transconceptual space – for whatever arises; (2) remaining present; (3) witnessing whatever is arising, externally and internally, without dissociating from it; and (4) awakening to the real nature of all that is.

Meditation is all of these and more, existing at essence as the practice-path of being centered not by self, but by innate awareness.

Meditation is the practice of awaring.

As such, it makes equal room for happiness and unhappiness, simultaneously opening us to deep insight, the moment-to-moment feel of a soapy dish, and the subtle agendas hovering so very near to our next thought. Meditation makes conscious space – a true living room – for the high and the low, the gorgeous and the repulsive, the fascinating and the tedious, shining the heartlamp of intrinsic awareness equally on all.

Meditation is not about feeling a certain way, nor about being in a certain state, nor about having certain experiences, but rather is about remaining awake in the midst of whatever is happening.

Meditation requires no props, robes, or equipment. It is not limited to a particular format or posture; one can be still, one can be moving, one can be quiet, one can be chanting or praying or crying. Whatever works. It's good to stay with a practice that works for you, but not to stay with it too long.

(How does your breathing feel?)

And don't make meditative practice special or “above” the rest of your life. It's more useful to awaringly wash dishes than to squat on a meditation cushion trying to reach some exalted state. The good news is that meditation works; the bad news, at least for our egoity, is that the spiritual deepening central to meditation is not always going to make us feel good.

Meditation is not about getting somewhere. In meditation, we move not from here to there, but from here to here – and from now to now – allowing ourselves to be awakened and homed by all things.

To be thus awakened and homed is to be grateful for all that has brought where we are. Meditation devoid of gratitude is not really meditation, but only spiritualized dissociation. Gratitude itself can be a deeply liberating practice. As awareness and love become more and more indistinguishable, we begin to truly live, regardless of our circumstances.

We don’t do meditation, but without us there is no meditation. May we take the practice of awaring to heart, daring to let it immerse us in – and reveal to us – the full Truth of what we cannot help but be.

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And how to find a practice that is right for you? Trust your intuition.

Here’s a user-friendly practice to try:

Sit comfortably, with loose jaw and belly, eyes closed or almost