In love with no-thing

Sound of water trickling from different places. Down the small yellow pipe that connects the middle-paved steps to the stone area in our back yard. Can we hear it falling from branches to leaves, to the ground, as well? Rain tapping the roof, falling into the sump drain from the waterlogged grass. It’s not just sound. It’s also slowing down and listening. Choosing our focus.

We are sitting in our new spa. It’s been three months since we bought it, and the novelty hasn’t worn. Water gathering on a leaf. Southerly winds above, a different direction than half an hour ago.

Birds now: Tūī. Kereru. Little green things, smaller than a sparrow – we keep meaning to look it up in a bird book. Frolic. Eat. Scratch. Rush. Fight. Swooooosh.

In the ocean this morning I said I’d like to know more about the seagulls and other birds that were circulating above us. What would you like to know, my friend asks? I’d like to know why they are circulating above us, so close to the water when there are three humans here – no fish. She asks, are you trying to ask what does it mean? Yes, that’s the question but I don’t really need to know why. I look up at the birds circulating, feeling the ocean.

Here now, listening to water falling and birds birding, Letting the search for meaning dissolve. It’s a tender space. It’s an empty space that is easily filled with worry if I let it.  I fill it with gratitude and appreciation for being able to be still and listen. For having the time and not needing to rush off to an insane job.

Sound is just one sensation. I can feel the water of the spa over my skin. I can smell chlorine. I see two small black birds land on the gutter above us, making their nest in the ceiling space. I wonder if that’s good for them though. More sheltered to nurture their babies sure. But do the babies learn to be resilient and sway with the strong winds and drench in the harsh rain? Thinking. Worry.

Taste too. Salt water from the swim this morning. Toothpaste. Metal something, maybe from my tongue.

Thoughts bombard and I don’t them take hold because they are trying to dictate how I am going to be in the world. They are based on fear and mistrust in my ability to be me and connect with the world in a calmer, wider way. I treat them just like one more sensation. Listening, smelling, seeing, feeling. Thinking. Dear thoughts – thank you for keeping me safe but I give you no more power than sound. I don’t prefer you over experiencing birds growing babies, water falling from the sky, trees growing green leaves, rocks breaking down. This I love today. Right now, I feel love for the way water sounds.

Yoga Nidra teacher Kamini Desai talks about an aspect of self and love as unconditional receptivity. We are like the wide blue sky which, by its nature, simply receives whatever is in it. The sky has no conditions. I sit here in the nature of my backyard, and I have no preference for what I am experiencing. The ‘I am’ of what I experience (and have thoughts about) doesn’t exist. I’m wider and more open than myself.

We often sit in the spa at unlikely times. On Saturday night there was a 130-kilometer storm. We sat in the spa with lightening flashing around us and thunder booming through the streets of Titahi Bay.  Sunny or thunder. Sunrise or sunset. Anxious or calm.

So, love as unconditional receiving, no matter where we are. I can simply be like the sky – like nature – and receive whatever is present without fear or judgement, or division. Spa pool, driving to work, waiting in a queue, dropping a messy spoon on the floor, anger, seeing a sunrise. If we don’t prefer one over the other, we can accept everything. If we accept everything, we won’t be disappointed in ourselves or others so much. We won’t create patterns of retreating or attacking because we aren’t the thing in front of us.

In meditation we have the ability to rest in the unconditional receiving of love. We deeply rest in peaks of silence and stillness because we get to experience not being affected by anything. We rest back as the sky and watch the contents come and go. Thoughts come up but we treat them the same as sensations in our feet, or the feel of our breath. Or nothing. And gradually, thoughts give up screaming for attention and they too dissolve. For me, it took years to feel this. Some people merge straight into it. I have glimpses only and I need consistently practice.

These restful glimpses of no-thing imprint on me like the ocean covers the sea floor.

Slowly my background is changing from anxiety to calm.

Silence is only silence because there is no sound. Would we notice the silence if we didn’t first notice the sounds? Silence happens and then sounds come in. If we feel the silence more than we feel the irritation of what someone says, then we don’t create a series of ugly or painful actions. And imagine being in love with nothing! Imagine love as accepting everything because we are more than what’s in front of us, including our thoughts.

“Even in deepest despair, isolation, and most profound loneliness - it’s all happening in the backdrop of love. The backdrop of silence and stillness is not easy to notice. We take it for granted and our tendency is to notice the contents only. The truth is, you are the abiding space that sadness moves through. You are the limitless self. We need to notice we are the backdrop, the container, this eternal presence that sadness is moving through. It only appears that we are the sadness. This is the cause of suffering. We have forgotten our true limitless nature. We have come to identify with whatever happens to be in the container or passing through the sky. Yoga Nidra allows us to rest as the container.” Kamini Desai. Yoga Nidra Teacher Training notes August 2024, inspired from her book Yoga Nidra: The Art of Transformational Sleep.