meditation

Sexual Metaphors Across The Centuries

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As a person interested in Taoism, it doesn’t take much to run into some practices and statements of a rather sexual nature. Sometimes it’s tame metaphors. Sometimes it’s hanging weights from your genitals to straighten your spine. Sometimes it’s someone writing a passive-aggressive dis about another Taoist being a huge pervert. Taoism’s diverse history has everything, including a lot of sex stuff.

One thing that I had noticed in my readings over the years was talk about “intimate union” in meditative practices – and ones that are clearly not sexual. Often it’s about joining forces, the various elements of one’s being together, sense and essence, spirit and energy, etc. Sometimes it’s simple, sometimes it’s elaborate.

(And yes, these sexual-but-not-sexual metaphors have clearly been taken as sexual in history. Taoism has also used mercury as a metaphor and it didn’t stop people from poisoning themselves.)

These sexual metaphors had often passed me by. Yes, perhaps I am “joining sense and essence” in an intimate embrace like a couple or something, but that’s just a metaphor, right? Perhaps the Metal Man takes his rightful place with his spouse. Sexual metaphors I just kind of passed by, probably because our own culture uses them.

But in time, I began to see how useful such metaphors were.

In my meditations, the “unity” of forces is a large part of the practice Breath meditation has mind resting on an ever-refining breath in partnership. My energy work is about mind resting on energy as it flows through the body. But such unities can easily be broken as any meditator knows – sometimes the mind doesn’t rest on breath (or energy) but rests on itself resting on breath (or energy). You know how it is when you’re doing the thing but also sort of knowing you’re doing the thing and it just falls apart.

I came to realize that meditating, the mind rests on something – for example, a slow and even breath. The mind sets its intent to be there with the breath, the breath ever slow and evening, and that’s its only priority. In many ways it surrenders itself completely to the breath by being there with it while the breath is there just being itself.

Then I got all those sexual metaphors because that’s perfect.

Intimate metaphors are a great metaphor for meditation practices. They capture the closeness, the surrender, the passion of connection. I’d written them off as trite and simplistic, but they were the opposite – the use of sexual or romantic metaphor fit meditation very well. I got it.

Meditation is an intimacy – as are other such practices. Sometimes you need to go to something visceral – like sex and romance – to communicate such things. Perhaps it has to be carefully phrased or used, perhaps people will get it wrong, but it fits.

I also think this is a good reminder that when reading metaphors and symbolism to remember they are oft written by people who are not you in times that are not your own. Our reactions to them are not the ones that the writers of the past expected or even considered. You have to learn to listen across the centuries.

–Xenofact

Head Full of Ghosts

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If you’ve done any form of meditation or therapy you know about those complexes in your mind. The fears, the obsessions, the habits that take over so much of our life, probably more than we want to admit.

It’s like having a head full of ghosts.

These aren’t the cool ghosts either. There’s no dramatic revelations of the past or lineage. They aren’t some vital spirits directing us to a better life after three disparate visions. None of these ghosts is delivering useful advice. Not a single one resembles Patrick Swayze.

Honestly, these ghosts in our head, these habits and neuroses, are boring and pathetic.

They’re mechanical and repetitive. They run on tracks burrowed into our mind, clockwork-clicking along whatever path set out by our past experiences. They are powerful, they are annoying, but they’re also not that interesting or unique. The reruns of the soul.

They’re often quite pathetic. A bad experience here, a grudge there, something we didn’t acknowledge in the past. Even the horrible ones are sad, the results of our bad choices or the cruelty of others. There’s something invalid about them, and we fear, about ourselves.

They’re damaging. They hurt us, obsess us, misdirect us, but not in any cool way. They’re often stupidly self-destructive – of ourselves and even themselves. They negate themselves yet always resurrect.

But worse of all these Ghosts, these complexes and obsessions of the past are so empty.

There’s nothing to them. No acknowledgement of reality, even when reality triggers them. They don’t grow. They aren’t relevant even if perhaps they once had reason to exist. When we acknowledge them, their shallowness is stunning. Here we are, people, and we have to share our head with these phantoms.

It’s humiliating. These mechanical, harmful, phantasms drive so much of our life and don’t deserve to. I once read someone discussing the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, and decided to translate what is usually interpreted as craving as humiliation, and I get that.

I find looking at this emptiness, this voidness of our complexes helps me deal with them. When you see their shallowness and pointlessness, you can overcome them. Not necessarily by great exertion or cultivation (though it may help) but by just seeing through them and deciding to move on.

They seem to shrink when you do that. Probably because your attention and ignorance was the only thing keeping them going.

–Xenofact

Nurturing Not Grasping

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If you’ve done meditation consistently (and my guess is you have), you know that in time things happen. You have insights, you feel different, there’s something there. Oh sure you read about it, you hear about it, but then it happens. You’re a better person for your meditations and it’s kind of a shock.

I mean you kind of hoped for it, but then you’re different. It’s real, it’s not sayings and advice and poems and words. You feel different and the you that feels is different.

But the question is: what’s next? This is something I’ve read several times in my Taoist studies, and I wanted to share some thoughts and insights from my own meditations. I’ve had those moments of insights of “shifts” where you’re a little bit different and you know you’re on the path. There’s something in you that is different, it’s better, but then what?

You can’t seize these moments, these changes, and hold them. You can’t force them to happen, which I think is frustrating to many. If you’re a meditator I’m sure you’ve been here. I certainly have, where a very solid change falls apart when you grasp it.

First, a thing I find helpful to remember is that it’s the meditation that brings you here, those moments of mind resting on breath, the flow of energies, or what have you.. You can’t force these changes, can’t push them but you can keep up the practice that makes them possible. The positive changes you experience are due to the practice making them possible.

The changes you experience – “Signs” is what I’ve seen it called in my Taoist readings – are indicators you’re doing well in meditation. Keep going with the meditation.

But those moments of insight, of feeling better, of feeling aligned, of feeling there’s something in you that’s better? Another useful idea I’ve seen in Taoism is the idea of nurturing and guarding. Taoist writings talk about how one may experience a “seed,” have “the elixir,” develop a “spiritual embryo” and so on at various meditative stages. These are not things to be held or grasped, but guarded and nurtured.

Whatever positive changes (and whatever symbolism you might use for them) you want to nurture them. Not grasp, force, hold, but gently nurture. The exact nature of that may depend on your level of meditation and spiritual path, but it takes gentle work to maintain those “positives.”

I find these are usually a combination of things. Recognizing that you’ve experienced change due to meditation. Maintaining meditation. Understanding behaviors that support these positive changes – ethical and social cultivation.

You also want to avoid destroying these evolutions – guarding them.. This may again be making behavioral and social changes, dietary alterations, and consideration for how your choices affect you. You might even get some insights into how your bad habits harmed before.

I think this is why the physicality of Taoist ideas helps me. Imagining carefully brewing an elixir, nurturing a spiritual embryo, “moving to the center” and so on resonate with me and obviously several thousand years of practitioners. It’s easy to imagine guarding and nurturing a physical thing.

I hope in your practices that you have these changes, these moments. I hope you can maintain your meditations. And I hope you can guard and nurture what you find.

Plus if you want a deep dive into Taoist symbolism, I got some books to recommend . . .

–Xenofact