In these unusual times it is especially useful to remember the mystery of being.
The mystery of being is what happens when suddenly a moment happens and you become aware of the utter mystery of existence—the glint of a sunset, the crawling of a bug, the glance of an eye, the lift of a wave.
The mystery of being is contained, appropriately enough, within everything that's happening—and not less than that.
Normally we're paying undue attention to the thoughts and stories going through our mind, and the hidden feelings of fear and separation that accompany them.
But if we just pay attention to everything without getting caught up in it, noticing the breath, noticing the sensations, noticing the thoughts, desires, ripples of emotion without identifying with them, then the mystery of being can arise in any moment.
The mystery of being can be "cultivated" in a sense. When we sit quietly and just become aware of our being, when we put our attention of the very beingness that's happening without judging it, then it can happen. The mystery of being is always there, but usually we're too distracted to notice it.
In sitting quietly, noticing all without attachment, aware of just being, a deep mystery begins to arise. It was always there all the time, of course, but now we begin to tune in to it. In a sense, we tune in to the pure miracle of existence, the pure miracle of beingness itself.
Beingness unencumbered for a moment by the habitual stories and reactions. Suddenly the veil lifts, and the miracle is wordless. No possible set of beliefs or truths or laws can encompass it, because it is so much vaster than all concepts. For a moment, we're not bound down by all the rules and conditioning and stories.
Every religion starts like that. Now and then a human being encounters a mystery of being so deep that they can no longer forget it, and it infuses their life. They understand, and they celebrate life.
After they die, the celebration gradually becomes ritual, and the understanding gradually becomes dogma. By and by the ritual becomes empty and the dogma becomes rigid and also empty.
And periodically the tradition is refreshed by someone who experiences the mystery of being and points out that all the legalisms and dogma and ritual are not what's it about.
Jesus did that. He didn't set out to found a new religion. He set out to inform Judaism, which had grown legalistic and formulaic.
The Buddha didn't set out to found a new religion. He was attempting to express the mystery of being against of background of Hinduism that had become rigid and dogmatic.
Mohammad in his day set out to birth a mystery outside of the rigid and dogmatic religions of his time.
Japanese Zen did the same thing with Chinese Zen, or Ch'an, which needed a rebirth.
St. Francis did it in 12th century Italy. The Baal Shem Tov did it in 17th century eastern Europe. Milarepa did it in 8th century Tibet. And so on, with countless examples.
Now, in our time, we're in danger of being overwhelmed with stories of "us" and "them," whoever "we" happen to be and whoever "they" happen to be. We'll always be doing whatever we feel we need to be doing. But when we're burdened with "us" and "them" stories as we go about our life, we miss the mystery of being, the experience of which is the only real reason we're here.
When we experience the mystery of being, then our responses and actions tend to come from love and compassion, which are the natural expressions of the mystery.
And then, even in the middle of being an American, or an Afghani, or an Israeli, or a Palestinian, or whatever, we fall down in gratitude inside for the miracle of being here in existence, and of existence, this moment.
—jim sloman, for 10/15/01
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