This song holds a special place in my heart, because it held a special place in my practice when I first became a monk. As is often the case, my early experiences with meditation were thunderously transforming. I encountered personal peace for the first time in my life, and insights fell from the sky like rain in the spring. (Which was itself falling outside at the time.)
It's typical in this phase to re-experience familiar things as new. Old aversions become less objectionable; maybe downright acceptable. And old favourites shine with a renewed light, as if seen for the first time.
During that period I hungrily re-consumed many former pleasures, chasing that Christmas-like sense of discovery.
Prominent among these was the music that has enjoyed a prominent place in my life for as far back as I can remember. A few artists and albums struck particularly true, and today I consider them part of my foundational practice, though my relationship with some goes back to childhood.
Of the latter, none stand out more conspicuously than The Wind.
I've been a rabid Cat Stevens fan since he first hit back in the late 60s. My own songwriting style (I was a bit of a coffee-house artist in my youth) bore, and probably still bears, the unmistakable marks of Stevens' influence. I was even told I looked like him, though not by any (conscious) design.
So naturally, Stevens' work was among the first I revisited during that period of awakening.
It was all brilliant, but The Wind had something extra. The beauty of the words and music evoked the sensation of sitting, and I lifted the needle over and over to listen again.
There's no real mystery here; Stevens was interested in Buddhism during that era, and much of the compelling catalogue he compiled then is Zen-friendly.
But The Wind is unique. It's so simple, so short… and so bang-on. Stevens himself apparently understood this, because he made it the inaugural track of Teaser and the Firecat, setting the tone for the entire album.
In the intervening years Stevens has had a colourful spiritual journey of his own. In 1977 he converted to Islam, and as part of his religious commitment, changed his name to Yusuf Islam and renounced his musical career.
He may have had a particularly thorny relationship with what I once heard him describe as "my Buddhist stuff".
But Yusuf's spiritual practice has been straight and sincere, as evidenced by his willingness to change his mind. In the early Oughts he decided that music was a perfectly appropriate way to celebrate the 99 Names of God.
So I'm pleased to report that Yusuf (his current stage name) is writing, recording, and performing again, and that The Wind has actually become the centrepiece of those performances. Though I've never practiced Sufism, it certainly does echo the Sufi teaching I've studied, and I don't see why it can't be Muslim as well as – or even instead of – Buddhist.
Anyway, as this modest little treasure has been instrumental (no pun intended) in my own enlightenment practice, I hereby commend The Wind to others, in the brotherly wish that it bring the same peace and encouragement it brought me.
It really does capture a deep experience that evades words.
I recently ran across this meme online. Though I'm generally sceptical of magical claims – meditation definitely helps with stress-related medical conditions, and also with mental and emotional issues, but whether it "increases creativity" or "increases immunity" invites further research – you can't argue with the rest.
I'm also a little leery of that imperative: MEDITATE (you unenlightened bastard). I might like it better with an exclamation point. MEDITATE! sounds more like "let's meditate!" and less like "didn't Ah tell yew to meditate, boot??? GIMME FIFTY!!"
But were it I, I'd just go nominal: MEDITATION. Because, like the advert says, there's no need for gurus.
But it's still an effective notice. Short and to the point. Undemanding. (Except for the implied call to obedience.) So I'm sharing it, so you can share it as well.
Because the fact is, meditation is simple. I'm astonished by those who tell me they'd like to meditate... eventually. Not now. Someday when conditions are right. When they have time to learn.
Well, if that's you, I got good news.
(Hang on, I have to pull on a colourful sweater... OK.)
You can meditate! Right here, right now!
"But Rob!" you say. "How can I meditate, right here, right now??"
Just follow our patented Three Easy Steps®:
1. Do not move. Do not change your clothes or put on New Age music or light incense or buy an expensive bell. Do not memorise a chant. Do not prepare a macrobiotic vegetarian meal. Do not shave your head.
2. Do not do anything but read the short instructions above, under "Simple Meditation". (For the record, that's redundant. At the risk of chapping practitioners of other religions, if you're doing anything other than that, you're not meditating. NTTAWWT.)
3. Now do those instructions, in order. I assume you're already sitting. If not, just skip that one.
When you get to the end of the list, you've meditated. Congratulations, you're Gautama Buddha.
You can stop there, or keep going until you feel like stopping. If you need a reminder of the rules as you continue, reread "Simple Mediation".
That's it. That's what you've been waiting for.
Bit anticlimactic, maybe.
But for some – me, for instance – a revelation.
(Meme courtesy of Bryan Helfrich and Wikimedia Commons.)
Last week a cougar killed a mountain biker in North Bend, Washington, about an hour from where I live. The Spokane Spokesman-Review's Eli Francovich offers a well-researched overview of the incident and the conversation about it.
The cougar attacked not one, but two human beings, travelling together. Specifics are elusive, but in the end, the lion killed one of the thirty-something men and wounded the other.
Both riders were struck in the head, as is typical of big cats.
Not only was this one unimpressed with their number (they routinely hunt in the midst of large herds), he wasn't even deterred by the rattly, metallic, petroleum-smelling contraptions the creatures were riding.
This cat uncharacteristically revealed itself before the assault. In that first confrontation, the two cyclists did everything by the book, up to and including straight-up attacking their stalker with their bikes.
Afterward, the panther demonstrated the cold calculation for which his order is justly renowned, running off through the forest as if frightened, only to loop back, track and observe his targets unseen, and finally, strike decisively from cover.
Authorities agree there was likely nothing the men could have done differently; these guys were well-trained in mountain lion drill. Sadly, this time it was only partially effective against their intelligent, unpredictable alpha predator.
But Francovich's piece raises an interesting data point unconsidered in my book review: the reliance of cougar researchers on bear spray.
Bear spray is the meanest crap on the planet. The effect is physiological, and instantaneous; it literally burns and asphyxiates its object. And cats, even more than bears, are highly sensitive to olfactory insult.
Like a shotgun (and unlike other firearms, which are all but useless in this context), it barely needs to be aimed. This is vital when you're startled and terrified. Point it in the general direction and squeeze. Even if you don't score a direct hit, you'll put the animal on notice that you can hurt it badly if you want to.
Better still: the stuff hisses as it comes out. Language any feline understands.
Doesn't change the fact that you have to see one to use it. These men had an unusual opportunity to use bear spray in their first encounter, but probably did not in the second, fatal, one.
But I'm still gonna get a can. In this case, anyway, that initial hosing-down almost certainly would have made the difference.
For the rest, this latest tragedy re-illustrates, for the benefit of a species famous for its self-regard, the Dharma of the Outback:
"It's their forest. It always has been."
(Warning sign from Arizona's Saguaro National Park courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
