Insight never comes hit or miss, but in accordance with a pattern of which one essential element is our own commitment.

Rollo May

I spent the whole morning trying to daydream but my mind kept wandering.

Stephen Wright

Moments of being like those mentioned in Chapter One are rare — maybe there are only a few in a year, or even in a lifetime — and as soon as they come, they're gone, leaving only a description of themselves. All that we have in life are a few points in time where, as C. S. Nott says, 'I am'; but points have no dimension and even several of them add up to hardly anything at all.

What is the secret of Being? The possibility of Being depends entirely on the quality of attention that I can give to my own existence. This is essentially something very practical.

Bring some attention to your hands and fingers as you hold this book and you will find yourself becoming aware of the texture of the paper, the weight of the book, the pressure of your fingers as they hold the book. Now direct your attention to the sounds in the room, or the sounds coming from other places, while your hands remain in contact with the book. You could also begin adding to your observations a sense of the whole mass of your body, and also try to include any thoughts or feelings that arise as you continue to read. Have you already forgotten about sound? Do you find this process difficult? Are you irritated by this idea, or resistant to it?

Try to make real the simple fact that you are here — in this exact place, right now — by trying to maintain, or return to, some sensation of yourself reading a book, maybe noticing thoughts or ideas or comments arising that (if you followed them) would take you instantly across space and time miles, and maybe years away from where you are now. The attempt to realize this simple state of being relies on some continuous sensation of self.

If I make an effort to observe myself, strange things happen: I forget about this observing almost from the moment I start — a thought passes through me, then an emotion connects with it, the corresponding facial expression is taken on and I have forgotten all about watching myself. But if I persist in trying to follow any of this (which is something I may never have tried before) then something else quickly comes to light; that I simply can't remember myself for any length of time. Being honest in is clear that, even for just a minute, the ability to hold some attention on where I am, what I am doing, and how I am — all together — comes and goes second by second. The process tried sincerely, is an attempt to connect passing-time with Being, and give a taste of what is at stake.

Usually my awareness becomes absorbed by and lost in what it comes into contact with; watching TV, reading a book, an argument, the outcome of a game of football. I may have even tried the short exercise above with some success but as soon as I put the book down, stand up and bang my knee on a piece of the furniture, immediately any idea of observing myself gives way to a feeling of annoyance. In this state I become almost identical with the object or the impulse that has taken me away — in this case, annoyance — and, because there is 'no one at home' to notice, so the automatic patterns of my awareness continue all the time, virtually unrecognized and unacknowledged.

Attention can have more of an emotional aspect — when it likes or dislikes something. My attention is attracted or repelled by something 'interesting' or 'important' to it: something in a shop window, an attractive woman, a favorite tune, an ugly building.

At certain times attention can actually be held in one direction with at least a degree of intention: studying for an exam or learning a new skill. But all of these states of attention, though deliberate perhaps, are relatively un-conscious and represent our ordinary way of being able to attend to only one thing at a time. When I become identified with something outside, I lose awareness of myself; then, in following some thought or feeling that is passing through me, I begin to lose awareness of the outside world. The word 'consciousness' means: 'knowing all together'. Usually, we fall into a situation where we identify ourselves with the contents of our consciousness, and hardly ever with our consciousness itself. It is a great paradox that in order to approach a state of Being, which is a state of psychological wholeness, I first have to learn how to separate myself so that I become both an observing and an observed person.

Being requires the intentional division of attention between myself and the outside world, so that awareness is not allowed to flow in one direction only — neither inwards nor outwards — but is divided, so that one part of it is retained in myself while the other part is directed to whatever I may be doing. By this intentional act, I may be aware of myself moving, feeling and thinking in relation to the world at large. This may seem obvious — I probably believe that this is my normal way of life — but this way of Being can never happen automatically, only through an intentional effort.

A person hearing or reading about conscious Being for the first time becomes the victim of a curious psychological trick. As soon as he is told that he has no attention for self, this in itself generates just enough conscious energy for him to reply, 'Of course I'm here', before his attention is again dispersed. Alternatively there may be a connection with only the idea of Being: it may be that the idea is associated with another, more familiar philosophical or religious concept, or with a psychological term. The idea of conscious Being carries power only when there is the realization that, at every moment, it is always a fresh proposition. If this proposition is simply labeled and pigeon-holed along with other bits and pieces of 'fact', then its inherent opportunity is wasted and it becomes increasingly difficult ever to return to it. What Being is not, is simply a concept to speculate on; nor is it the attempt to muster up some sort of dramatic emotion.

I can describe an attempt to prolong an accidental moment of Being: I was sitting on a bench in a park, beside a lake; it was a sunny day and a fresh breeze was blowing. A man, half crouching, came creeping along the grass, camera in hand, to photograph a pair of swans that were preening themselves at the edge of the water. The man shuffled around, changing his camera angle, moving in closer and then further away in an unconsciously comic performance until, eventually, the shutter clicked and froze one hundredth of a second of passing-time. As he turned and walked away without once looking back at the swans, I noticed a completely inappropriate expression of anxiety on the man's face. When he got his prints back from the lab, he would almost certainly not remember the circumstances — the sun and the breeze — in which he took the photograph and he would surely not remember what he'd been worrying about. Seeing him was the 'shock' that gave me the opportunity to sit and watch those swans in movement while I tried at the same time to keep an inner eye on myself and so create a more vivid and longer-lasting memory than any snapshot could revive.

I noticed the wind blowing deep ripples across the back of a woman's silk blouse and the drops of water that splashed up from the pond; I heard and saw the splashes simultaneously as though hearing and seeing were aspects of a single sense; I heard the far and near crunching of footsteps on a gravel path and the conversations and squeals of children that became louder and quieter as the wind whipped the words this way and that.

When I try to be present, I not only know all these things, but I am aware that I — warm flesh, heavy bones and rising, falling breath — know it. I try to keep the same impartial sense of witnessing, or at least note my disapproval, when my eye catches things that are not so 'beautiful'; putrid food scraps, a child treading over a crushed coke can, the graffiti sprayed across the side of a refreshment stand.

Although the range and ability of the senses is vast, the nervous system is equally ingenious at screening or filtering impressions. Despite the continuous touch of my clothes against my skin I am not usually aware of it but, if I wish to, I can call into my awareness many impressions like this that are normally unconscious. For example, just as I may not instantly remember what I had for dinner yesterday, but with a little effort can recall it, so, at any given moment, I haven't much sensation of the sole of my right foot but I can begin to receive signals and sensations from that part of the body — it is only a matter of paying attention. I may have had no sense of what the sole of my right foot felt like a few seconds ago but, now that I've drawn my attention to it, I have awareness in this part of my body.

Can I, while I am writing these words, be simultaneously aware of the sound of the traffic outside, the sound of doors opening and closing, the sound of my typing, the taste in my mouth, the slight ache in my shoulder, the coloring of the objects in my peripheral vision, the sensation of the temperature of the air on the back of my hands, the warmth from the bulb of my desk lamp and my own weight leaning slight too far forward in my chair? Can I see too all the thoughts and feelings that are continually passing through me? Is it possible to witness all this from some almost miraculous level of objectivity?

Being is the enhanced state produced by the attempt to induce awareness in myself. In making these efforts, I see how difficult it is to divide my attention; but there is a way of making this more possible. Although it is difficult to remember myself and my surroundings at the same time, it may be possible to be present in the containing-world; that is, when I recognize that there are in reality three factors involved: first, myself; second, my present situation; and third, some higher dimension which contains and unifies the first two.

As far as being is concerned, I must find for myself and realize the third force. I may name it: eternity, now, the third force, the holy ghost, self-remembering, mindfulness, real 'I', spirit, sound, grace, the containing-world. But any expression, taken as a ready made label, is worse than useless. I must genuinely realize that I, and my situation, stand in the presence of the higher dimension of Being which unites it all.

If I could bring about more moments of Being, fleeting at first but then with increasing frequency and length of time, then my life would gain a consistency and meaning that is impossible in passing-time. To overcome the enormous resistance to change and the urge to let things carry on as they are, this wish to be would have to come before anything else, whatever discomforting or unpleasant views of myself it brought.

I take it for granted that my behavior is conscious and that I intentionally choose what I do. I seem to be in full possession of all my senses, able to decide what I wear, what I eat, what career I take up. But why is the resolution to diet or to give up smoking so difficult to sustain? Why is it impossible to sleep at night sometimes, even when tired? Why do some people find themselves always being asked for favors? Do I 'decide' to have an argument? Do I 'choose' to fall in love? Can I in fact claim that there is intention and choice in everything I do?

Similarly, it is taken for granted that all my behavior is directed by a mastermind called 'I', although impartial observation soon reveals to me that most situations in life are dealt with through experience that has been built up in my memory by education, imitation, trial-and-error and repetition , and that it is this that forms the basis of many of my thoughts, my feelings and judgments, and my opinions and actions. Each bit of learned behavior, in its turn, answers as 'I'; yet these 'I's are quite capable of contradicting each other. One wants a piece of chocolate cake while another thinks that a diet of grapefruit and eggs for a week would sort out my weight problem. Just as a thermostat regulates the temperature in a room, the body has its own instinctive sensitivity to when enough food has been consumed to serve its needs; but I may continue eating from economic insecurity or to dull some unwanted sensation with the feeling of a heavy, over-full stomach. Or because I would like to be cheered up by a piece of chocolate cake. Then the head comes up with all kinds of dietary theories to try and do something about the situation and suddenly everything as become complicated. One 'I' will decide to get up early; another fancies a lie-in. One 'I' resolves to stop smoking; the habit continues. All of this happens because both unity and intention are qualities only of Being.

Each 'I' — or each little cluster of 'I's — has its own self-image its own repertoire of body postures and gestures, feelings, words, habits and beliefs; its own style and motivations; its own impulses, desires and principles. I don't easily admit to this state of affairs because I 'feel' myself to be an indivisible and consistent being: I don't have many bodies, only one. Yet if I look carefully I find that, although the body is a permanent element, my bodily sensations change: feelings fade, thoughts flow but I notice this only when there is someone present to experience this flow of thoughts, feelings and physical sensations. This observing someone; who experiences all of this is much closer to my real "I".

More often, my awareness takes the form of whatever it comes into contact with: if I have a happy feeling, I tend to be that feeling. It absorbs me into itself; this is the process of identification. We identify with all of our feelings, desires and opinions, with our roles in life or our jobs, our nationality, politics, religion, achievements and many other things.

Without awareness I unintentionally wander from one aspect of myself to another: 'I am' tired, 'I am' hungry, 'I am' angry; one identity is followed by the next. Yet it impossible to experience myself as a consciousness apart from the contents of my consciousness so that I have a more panoramic view of my personality and its contents and so that, before any specific though or feeling, first of all I am. I dis-identify by observing: instead of being taken away by feelings and thoughts I observe them, without judging them or wanting to change them, as if I were watching the psycho-physical dance from some more detached central point. This kind of experience of myself does not mean changing anything — feelings, desires, ideas will still be coming and going — but now they are contained in my awareness, which is also aware of itself! This reality is not only to be tried sitting down with closed eyes, or in a quiet room, but right in the middle of everyday life. Eventually it may be possible for the self to blend fully and easily with chosen specific personality contents, but first I must be able to dis-identify.

Being allows choice at all times, so that I am always available to myself. In this situation I would be neither the passive spectator of the show nor the actor completely involved in it: I would be both of these, and also the director.

My ordinary state can be compared to one of relative dis-integration, in which fragments of me appear in passing-time: my reintegration into a unity depends on my having some sense of my whole Being. This unity can only come about through being connected with a much greater reality.

No amount of ordinary experience can ever equal even one moment of Being; they belong to different dimensions. Being is an integrated state in which there is a sense of self that comes from passing-time, because I don't yet have an established or continuous way of being.

It is within me that two dimensions of time can meet; it can even be said that they correspond to two psychological systems which work in me — one of passing-time, and one of Being. These two ways of living are not opposite, but relative. My aim is to bring these two systems into a workable relationship and to be able to integrate them without discounting one at the expense of the other. An entirely new experience of life is possible in the relationship between a new sense of time and a new sense of self.

Reader: obviously, since this is not a book, you will need to make some adjustments. The point is to voluntarily and intentionally expand the field of your sensory awareness. Include your posture, any tensions in your hands and arms, tactile sensations and the light coming from your monitor, etc. FMW