So a theme that I, yeah, I kind of like, okay, a theme comes up in my heart and I sort of turn it over in practice and in teaching over a period of months or years and, and, you know, with the aspiration just to try to clarify and augment a kind of theme. And And so for the reflections today, it's like past, present, future. And we hear the phrase to be present often, often. And we almost become a little bit suspicious about the past and the future. And we hear the instruction, happiness arises here and now. But likely we notice today or some other day, the present often feels like a slot into which the mind can't quite fit. And what, after all, is the present moment? What does it mean to be here now? How long is now? Is there a sense of time when we're present? And generally, I would say to be present means we're simply not identified with discursive thought. That's usually what meditation teachers mean by be present, not, and primarily discursive verbal auditory thought, disidentified with that. I started sitting with a young adult group that emerged out of a Tikhnot Han retreat for young people. And... And I was so green and just trying to sort of get my sea legs in the Dharma. And I really, really did not know what to make of all the spiritual stuff. I wasn't seeking it. It was literally two roommates, you know, were meditators. And that's how I encountered practice. And I really, really did not know what to make of all the spiritual stuff. I wasn't seeking it. It was literally two roommates, you know, were meditators. And that's how I encountered practice. And they would talk about Tichna Han and kind of like the loving, honorific name of Tai. And Tichna Han pieces every step, which actually it's what it says above my, you know, in that Enzo, above the... My head from that book, Tickna Han said, peace is present in the here and now, in ourselves and in everything we do and see. Every breath we take, every step we take can be filled with peace, joy and serenity. The question is whether or not we are in touch with it. We only need to be awake, alive in the present moment. And so I hear things like that and lines like that would kind of break my brain. You know, it was like, is this real? Is this a cult? Is this New Age BS? Is this that I've simply been excluded from the kingdom of God, you know, and everybody else knows their way in or something? Really like what to make of this. And now it's 25 years later. And I think that's true, but maybe what I would say is that being present is not a choice, but a function of training. The present moment is only a refuge when memory and desire, regret, and fear have been deeply addressed. The present moment is only a refuge when the past is poignant, but not overstimulating, cannot ambush the heart mind. The present moment is only a refuge when the past is poignant, but not overstimulating, cannot ambush the heart mind. The present moment is only a refuge when we already know the future in our bones. Everything changes, right? Suzuki Roshi's summary of the Dharma, not always so. Is change still startling to us? Still is to me. The attempts to force oneself into the present can feel almost like a self-injury or something. You know, those moments where it's like just, you know, it's like trying to squish something into a slot or something. It's just like, yeah, but the past, when the past feels incomplete, And the future feels threatening to be present, feels like holding 50 ping pong balls with two hands under water all at once. And so the present isn't a sense of, you know, it doesn't bring a sense of refuge. It feels like we're neglecting something so vital in just surrendering to what's here. And to put down the past and the future, it feels like a a renunciation. And renunciation, that's at the heart of the path. Renunciation ought to be a stretch, but it can't be too much to ask. If we ask too much renunciation, it breaks something in us. And putting down past and future in an instant often feels like too much to ask. And so in some ways, be present. is in a prescription of what to do, but a description of a mind that has let go. Being present, in other words, is less the practice and more the fruit. is in a prescription of what to do, but a description of a mind that has let go. Being present, in other words, is less the practice and more the fruit. That's like not the normal party line. And I don't even know what I think about it, but increasingly it's like, yeah, yeah, to be present In some ways is the practice, right? But in a deep sense is the fruit. And the journey of Dharma is into presence, is through the past and future. Ajin's the Chitom. So our practice is led by Dhamma rather than driven by self-view. It inclines towards stopping the old rather than becoming something new. It's a cultivation that frees up, protects, and gathers us into a free space at the center of life. It's the kama, karma, that leads to the end of kama and a taste of freedom. This is largely a deconstructive path. And yet at the empty center, we find the raw materials to construct a life of love and care and meaning. And what is the present moment other than the summary of the entirety of the past? Right? There is like this path that Buddha said to understand the Dhammas, to understand conditionality. And this moment does not stand free and uncaused. There's this lifetime of a very plastic brain shaping and being shaped. by all of our experiences, a collection of wounds and triumphs and habit energies. And it's quite tender to consider where we come from, the legacies of goodness, the legacies of pain. by all of our experiences, a collection of wounds and triumphs and habit energies. And it's quite tender to consider where we come from, the legacies of goodness, the legacies of pain. And the present has more history than just this one lifetime, the architecture of our brains shaped over millions of years of evolution, very clear preferences and agendas. And, you know, I often, you know, when I was young, I would experience the life as a kind of, you know, too much was the phrase. And like a meal that was too big to finish. And many moments each day felt like undigested, you know, just like... you could go to sleep, but what's undigested follows you into the dreams. It just felt like life itself was a little overwhelming, you know, for somebody who was, for me, it was like, you know, high levels of sensitivity, low levels of equanimity. And when you live under conditions of too much for a long time, there's a backlog. When we act out, kind of conflicted, unconscious, half-baked motivations. There's a backlog. When we're miscalibrated in the match between our intention, our conscious intention and impact, there's a backlog. When we're not ethically careful and leave debris, there's a backlog. When we lose that which we, you know, hoped, fantasized was permanent. It's a backlog. Naomi Shiavnai said people do not pass away. They die. Then they stay. And that's past can be like that. And so often it feels like our past needs fixing. There are these electrified memories or moments that overran our mind or shame that solidified and lingered forgiveness that needs to be offered or received. There are these electrified memories or moments that overran our mind or shame that solidified and lingered forgiveness that needs to be offered or received. Leonard Cohen wrote this kind of start as a poem, later edited it, but the first version said, like 2007, I cried for you this morning and I'll cry for you again, but I'm not in charge of sorrow, so please don't ask me when. I know your burden's heavy as you wheel it through the night. The guru says it's empty, but that doesn't make it light. Prematurely imposing some order on the past, on pain, does healing a disservice. And so we listen patiently, listen patiently. And we listen, you know, we're not often interested in the past for its own sake. Most of the reason why we return and linger with memory is we're trying to figure out what the past means for our future. What did that pain mean for my life now? What did that pain mean about me? What are my prospects for happiness? How do I truly become informed? How does my future become informed by my past? And until we feel like we've learned everything we need to learn from our past, we keep trying to fix it. And it's as if there's a kind of secret locked in the memory, and we've just not been able to discern it. For the ways in which life has felt like too much overran the system, and the mind keeps returning often feels like there's like... almost like some instructions buried in our pain, but we can't read them, can't discern them. For the ways in which life has felt like too much overran the system, and the mind keeps returning often feels like there's like... almost like some instructions buried in our pain, but we can't read them, can't discern them. And this unsettles our sense of the future. It makes everything feel more tenuous. What is the secret of this pain? What is the secret of this wound? And the secrets they... They feel grafted into self-view, Sakya Ditti, this unreadable quality of the past, trying to coax out the secrets of past pain. Those secrets, they are grafted into self-view. What might be true about me? What does this mean about me, for me? Philosopher Lethaby says, In ordinary waking consciousness, representations that are bound to the self-model, including our deeply held, often unconscious beliefs about ourselves and our lives, typically don't attract explicit critical attention or reflection. They are experiences reality itself. or as that with which we see the world rather than part of the world that we see. When the binding of these stimuli into the self-model is disrupted, we disidentify with them in a very straightforward way, rendering them opaque. They are no longer experienced as part of me, but as something separate, an object or appearance in consciousness. to which I can attend with some critical distance. When the binding of these stimuli into the self-model is disrupted, we disidentify with them. They become opaque. The assumptions deeply held unconscious beliefs structure our lives become opaque. They become, in a sense, they can be known. The assumptions deeply held unconscious beliefs structure our lives become opaque. They become, in a sense, they can be known. What is known is not self. What can be known is not self. I think Nisarga Dada said that. Until the past becomes the past, it feels like it's me. And until the secret, it feels like there are no more secrets to discern in the past, feels like me. Until we know the past as potent but empty, it feels like me. And mindfulness is this gradual patient investigation of of the past as it emerges in the moment, awake with this memory, awake with this old habit energy, awake with this subtle amorphous weird feeling state, awake with this regret or remorse, the kind of the potency of the kind of view, the view that It's like this old view, old view. It's not a dharma view, not wise view. It kind of sucks us back into these regressed states. And it just, I don't know, it just takes time for delusion to thaw like ice. And our relationships, you know, are relationships of many kinds. can be like time travel where we move back into old modes, where the past feels more active. And the confusion that we have lived with before our path just overtakes the mind again. And so part of our practice is blessing our diluted memory with clarity and patience. And the memory was encoded in a kind of confused manner. It was bound up with the immaturity of our wisdom and our love. And the memory was encoded in a kind of confused manner. It was bound up with the immaturity of our wisdom and our love. It was bound up with the immaturity of our wisdom and the love. And what can we ask of ourselves? That's all the wisdom we had. That's all the love we had. It wasn't sufficient to metabolize the experience. Okay. And now here it is. in the silence, in the retreat, in the heart as a vague fog. And so now from a place of deeper self-understanding, wisdom, a sense of innocence, we extract the secrets of the past. And what are the secrets of the past? Well, I'm sure take their own form given the particularities of your life, your history, but imagine some themes. These are not big secrets. These are not, they feel like secrets, but it's something like, well, things change. We don't always get what we want. We get what we want, but it wasn't what we thought it would be. What I thought was reliable, faltered. The people, I love, depend on, are imperfect. I was scared. Life is intense. Some part of me wanted to do better, but I couldn't. Some measure of helplessness is woven into the fabric of existence. And the process, discerning the secrets, you know, which are just Dharma, the secrets of the past, the instructions that we are... illegible for a while. That process of listening, absorbing, that process often feels like grieving. It feels like grieving and tastes like relief. And the process, discerning the secrets, you know, which are just Dharma, the secrets of the past, the instructions that we are... illegible for a while. That process of listening, absorbing, that process often feels like grieving. It feels like grieving and tastes like relief. And the fruit of the work is often a certain kind of shame-freeness. Shame is very, that affect is very close to self-view. And when those secrets, like our sense of, yeah, that the past is me. When we haven't discerned the secrets, we haven't let the past breathe, there's often some measure of shame. And so to grieve the past is to become unbound from it. Meaning it's not grafted into self-view in the same way. And what is not me cannot be a cause for shame. It's just sad. Or it's just you fill in the blank. But there's no ground for shame to arise. That frees us up. Frees us up. Frees us up from having to read the past anymore. It's like no more secrets lurking. And what about the future? Sometimes I say that the dharma is about time, the expanse of time that extends forward and backwards. The time in front of us makes us anxious. You know, time seems to demand being filled. That's bhavatana, the craving to become. this kind of basic restlessness that it is said is with us until we're totally free. This is Zadie Smith from early in the pandemic. I think it's a short essay called Something to Do. this kind of basic restlessness that it is said is with us until we're totally free. This is Zadie Smith from early in the pandemic. I think it's a short essay called Something to Do. She says, I write, well, the best I can say for it is it's a psychological quirk of mine developed in response to whatever personal failings I have. But it can't ever meaningfully fill the time. There's no great difference between novels and banana bread. She was talking about making banana bread. You know, both are just something to do. There's no substitute for love. The difficulties and complications of love as they exist on the other side of this wall away from my laptop. is the task that is before me, although task is a poor word for it, for unlike writing, its terms cannot be scheduled, pre-planned, or determined by me. Love is not something to do, but something to be experienced, something to go through. That must be why it frightens so many of us and why we so often approach it indirectly. Here is this novel made with love. Here is this banana bread made with love. If it weren't for this habit of indirection, of course, there would be no culture in this world and very little meaningful pleasure for any of us. Although the most powerful art, it sometimes seems to me, is an experience and a going through. It is love comprehended by, expressed, and enacted through the artwork itself. And for this reason has perhaps been more frequently created by people who feel themselves to be completely alone in this world, and therefore wholly focused on the task at hand than those surrounded by, quote, loved ones. And for this reason has perhaps been more frequently created by people who feel themselves to be completely alone in this world, and therefore wholly focused on the task at hand than those surrounded by, quote, loved ones. Such art is rare. We can't all sit cross-legged like Buddhists day and night meditating on ultimate matters, or I can't. But I also don't want to just do time anymore the way I used to. And yet, in my case, I can't let it go. Old habits die hard. I can't rid myself of the need to do something, to make something, to feel that this new expanse of time hasn't been, quote, wasted. Still, it's nice to have company. watching this manic desire to make or grow or do something that now seems to be consuming everybody. I do feel comforted to discover that I'm not the only person on this earth who has no idea what life is for, nor what is to be done with all this time aside from filling it. Ah, that's touching to me. What is to be done with all this time aside from filling it? That is the only way not to fill time is to let go of the craving to become. Vava Tana. But it's strong. It's strong. The kind of leaning forward, the craving to fill time with something. and maybe relatedly the foundational effects of fear. You know, like I don't know that we fully appreciate how much the organizing principle of our body is controlling threat. You know, like I don't know that we fully appreciate how much the organizing principle of our body is controlling threat. Our very sense of self in some way is that the effect of fear self is a kind of wound masquerading as a nurse. And Truth is kind of incidental in all of this. It's a casualty of the urgency around fear and becoming. Truth is only, in other words, of instrumental value. And we see that in this moment, in this country, the kind of madness coursing through the country's veins is a testament to the profoundly distorting effects of egoic processes. Right? And so how, okay, the future, how do we approach this? I think it's twofold. On the one hand, we find refuge. We find refuge. And there is relative safety, even in our imperfect bodies. There's relative safety sitting, sitting in retreat, being maybe at home. people who you who do not wish to hurt you, people who have taken the precepts and not harm you. And we really have to actually develop the skill of resting amidst that refuge because the alarm bells keep going off even when they're false alarms. And so we develop the capacity to to rest, to begin to let go of fear. And there's less need to model the future and model the self as sandwiched between past and future when there are no alarm bells going off. But not all alarms are false alarm. So much of our anxiety is about not knowing and the intolerance of uncertainty. But not all alarms are false alarm. So much of our anxiety is about not knowing and the intolerance of uncertainty. But we do actually know how every story ends, everything changes. Our bodies are not in our possession. Let go of all that is not yours. And what is not yours, the Buddha says, everything. And so mortality is a kind of invitation to contemplate futurelessness. Something comes next. Something comes next. And then it doesn't. And if there were nothing coming, no time to fill, there'd be, it feels like there's nothing to do but be awake to love. And so this kind of acclimatizing to a Nietzsche, finding refuge sometimes, and then acclimatizing to a Nietzsche. No more anxiety, no more not startled by the loss that is the future. This allows us a kind of different way of resting here. The journey to the present runs through past and future. From Bob Dylan's Love and Theft, well, my ship's been split to splinters and it's sinking fast. I'm drowning in the poison, got no future, got no past. But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free. I've got nothing but affection for all those who've sailed with me. Everybody moving, if they ain't already there, everybody got to move somewhere. Stick with me, baby. Stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interesting right about now. So offer this for your consideration and pick up what's useful, leave the rest behind. Okay, so we chat chats open can say goodbye. So offer this for your consideration and pick up what's useful, leave the rest behind. Okay, so we chat chats open can say goodbye. This is not my desperate plea for you to thank me, but you can. Oh, big hearts. But yeah, chat's open just to say goodbye to Sangha and wish each other well. Thank you for your attention today. Thanks so much, Matthew. Oh, my pleasure. Thank you very much, Matthew. Sure. This was so wonderful, Matthew. No, my pleasure. Thank you. Bye. Okay, you all take care. Thank you, everyone. Take care of yourself. Bye, be well. Thank you all. Thank you. Thank you. Well, so much. Good. yeah bye i feel better well okay good to Thanks for a wonderful day, Matthew from Enso Village. Looking forward to seeing you here one of these days. That's right. That's right. I'm coming next month. Yeah. Yeah. So don't bring the ringers out. I'm intimidated teaching there. Okay. It's scary. I was wishing they could come and hear you. Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. It's going to be a silent day, I think. Yeah. Thank you. Yeah, thank you all. Thank you, Matthew. My pleasure. My pleasure. Nice to see your faces. I hope to see you soon. Okay. Okay. Come back to Beth Sangha. Talk to us more. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nice, nice. Okay. Okay. Oh, sweet. I don't quite want to go yet. This is longer lingering than usual. Could get awkward. It could be the secret teachings. Could be the after party. This is longer lingering than usual. Could get awkward. It could be the secret teachings. Could be the after party. Okay, I'm leaving. Bye, Sarah.