On the Art of Self-Forgetfulness

Man is a thinking reed but his great works are done when he is not calculating and thinking. “Childlikeness” has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self-forgetfulness. When this is attained, man thinks yet he does not think. He thinks like the showers coming down from the sky; he thinks like the waves rolling on the ocean; he thinks like the stars illuminating the nightly heavens; he thinks like the green foliage shooting forth in the relaxing spring breeze. Indeed, he is the showers, the ocean, the stars, the foliage.

D.T. Suzuki

As many of you know, along with reading poetry and literature, I also read “spiritual books”. I have been reading these books for about two years now. My entire first year was devoted to reading books pertaining to Buddhism, both esoteric and mainstream, Tibetan, Zen, and Vipassana. This last year I have turned to reading about the Islamic mystic religion of Sufism, mainly through the great Sufi master Hazrat Khan. But a friend of mine just loaned me the spiritual classic, Zen in the Art of Archery, and I am ecstatic over my discovery, to say the least.

This essay will be the first in a series of contemplations (or meditations) on the art of self-forgetfulness. This first essay will hopefully give you an introduction to what I talk about when I talk about “self-forgetfulness”. Let me add that I have stumbled across this mystical idea several times in my life. Perhaps the first time was from the movie Billy Elliot. Billy Elliot is a boy of about ten years old from a poor Irish family who learns how to dance. He practices incessantly, on the roof, in the alleys, everywhere in his small Irish village. His teacher suggests that he apply for a scholarship at a distinguished arts academy. The most poignant scene in the movie shows him auditioning for the scholarship. In front of a long desk of five stolid judges, the music is turned on and everyone waits for Billy Elliot to dance. At first his nervousness betrays him and he’s uncertain of his steps. But he slowly gives way to the rhythm that he hears. In minutes, Billy Elliot is leaping across the floor, doing the most fantastic numbers. After the audition, amazed by Billy’s prowess, one of the judges asks the boy the question, “What is it that you enjoy about dancing?” And his response: “I disappear. I forget myself completely.”

Since watching that scene with Billy Elliot, my reading from various spiritual traditions has reinforced to me the notion that “the key to life” is hidden in that simple phrase of Billy Elliot’s. And so, I have come to realize that all human suffering is a form of self-consciousness. All of my problems, all of my doubts, anxieties and unfulfilled desires are rooted in the constant and obsessive references I make to myself. Furthermore, my “crises” represent the unchecked proliferation of my self-centered obsession; in other words, of thinking too much. But how do I keep from thinking, let alone, thinking about myself?

The act of thinking is avaricious and addictive; no single thought is ever enough; the mind goes in constant circles like a feedback loop out of control, running over and over itself again and again. The other characteristic of thinking is that thinking removes me from my experience. This is not to say that thought is not part of experience because it is, however, thought is not all of experience. An experience, any experience, is so replete with millions of dimensions, all of the senses, for example, all of the impressions, and all of the super-senses, and psychic energies, dimensions perhaps we will never touch separately and uniquely; but the force of the coherent whole is what we call “being present”. Thought then removes my attention from the coherent whole and from these other, finer dimensions of experience. My instinct to constantly think, to obsess, or to worry is the result of clinging. Thinking is no other than an attachment to my ego, or being too wrapped up in my ego. And I can’t let myself go most of the time, or at least, who I think I am. As if I’m holding on desperately to these ideas, objects, feelings, and stories relating to me because I am afraid that if I let them go I won’t know who I am, and I feel that this confusion or not-knowingness will destroy me.

How easy it is to proclaim the Great Doctrine of “living in the moment” and how hard it is to accomplish! I forget about my experience and about reality more often then I forget about myself. Complete detached immersion into the flow of life is a rare experience for me. Let’s say I am entirely present to my experience for ten minutes in an entire week, the rest of the time I am “asleep in my thoughts”. From the minute I wake up to the minute I fall asleep, I am consumed by my thoughts. Occasionally I will be jolted by my emotions and thus made aware of them, but soon after I return to the obsessive stream of thoughts, judging, discriminating, predicting, and scheming. In fact, thought-activity is the product of ego-consciousness. And the ego always seems to want something.

When I am engaged in an interior monologue, I often catch myself brainstorming on how to get “my way”. My ego would have me impose my “vision of things” on reality if I could. I start out by having some goal, which is usually a desire (i.e. I want a computer), then I provide an argument to myself for why I need to obtain one (some purpose based on a lack I feel or have), and my thoughts revolve around the process of obtaining the “quest object”, which will supposedly satisfy me or improve my life in some way. Thought thus represents inner motivation, inner striving, and self-will. If I could live each day with the knowledge of self-forgetfulness, forgetting what I want, forgetting what I’m trying to get or obtain for the day, forgetting what I like or what I prefer, then I believe I’d be much better off.

But where would I rest my mind if I forgot all about myself for the day? I would rest my mind in the present experience, in the action-at-hand. There is a place for the mind to go when thoughts are ignored and that place is the eternal present. In the moment of action, the mind is entirely consumed by the force of experience. How do we describe this flow of experience and this self-forgetting? The dynamics of the art of self-forgetfulness can barely be described. The art is so steeped in mystery that the best explanations, such as the Zen tradition, often leave the person who has never experienced life in this manner either cynical or with a flat and empty conceptual conundrum. That is not to say that people have never experienced self-forgetfulness. In fact, we experience the state of self-forgetfulness all the time. Our attentions go in an out of ego-consciousness; we merge with reality and then return to our thinking mind, in and out, in and out, all throughout the day. However, we are usually not aware of the shift in consciousness.

But every athlete and every artist, every actor and every musician knows the importance of self-forgetfulness. Improving oneself in sports and in the arts is based on one’s capacity for self-forgetfulness, and one’s ability to immerse oneself in the action-at-hand. Before an actor can perform a part, she must forget herself and her thoughts completely. To entirely assume the role, she must temporarily disregard herself and resign herself to that role. With thinking she runs the risk of bringing herself out of character, thus removing her from the experience on stage. The same goes for a musician. If a guitarist wishes to play freely and spontaneously, he must forget himself. He can either concentrate on his music or his thoughts, but not on both. The more he merges with the music, with the instrument, with the playing, the better he will sound to an audience. Similarly, in life, I realize that I have the choice whether I want to concentrate on the action in front of me or whether I want to obsess over the future. I can do the “next right thing” or think about my defects and my unfulfilled desires. I can act the role that the moment requests of me, performing my duty to the present, or I can cling to my thoughts.

Meditation strengthens the fundamental skill of self-forgetfulness. When I practice for forty or eighty minutes a day focusing my attention on my breath, I practice letting go of my thoughts and preoccupations. This practice is especially difficult because it is the conditioned habit of my mind to cling to my thoughts, my desires, my plans, etc. Each time I catch myself clinging to my thoughts, I let go and return to the breath. Over time, attention to the breath improves concentration. The second aspect of meditation is “right presence of mind”. Therefore not only do I learn to pay bare attention to the breath but I also bring my awareness to the experience of breathing, this includes my body and even an awareness of my surroundings; everything comes together in the coherent whole. Therefore breath meditation is not the practice of a fixed or focal awareness but rather of a subtle, detached, and diffuse awareness.

At the most basic level, when I meditate I discipline my mind. This discipline will allow me to detach myself from the obsessive thought patterns that I most commonly succumb to during a typical day. These are the self-centered thought patterns that are causing me suffering. And therefore if I can learn to immerse myself in the present experience of flowing awareness, then I would be able to avoid self-clinging and self-consciousness, which as I said, is responsible for the majority of my suffering.

Once I hone the skill of self-forgetfulness on the meditation cushion, I can use this skill in all aspects of my life. For example, as a runner, I have observed that most of my runs fall into one of two categories. Lately my typical run goes for about five miles in about 90 degree weather. This can be uncomfortable and painful at times, but I am conditioning myself as I train for the marathon next year. On the one hand, I’ve found that I can begin running and soon become intensely aware of my thoughts. Perhaps it starts out with a minor worry, such as “my shoe laces feel too tight” or “my back hurts”. If I feed these thoughts and continue the run “in my head”, then I find that I begin to complain more often, saying things such as, “today is not a good day to run” or “I can’t do this now”. But physically, I know I can handle this very same run in the 90 degree weather, for I have done it countless times before. The suffering thus originates in the mind and goes to the body. The more my thoughts distract me, the more I am cut off from the experience of running, and the harder the run will be.

However, this is not always the case. Sometimes I will get outside and run five miles without even thinking about it, that is, completely immersed in the act of running and completely detached from any interfering thoughts. I experience what many have called flow, that euphoric sense of self-oblivion, and total immersion into present experience. In this state, you may say that I am not really running. That is, I am not the doer of the act. But rather I am being run by some greater force, rhythm, or energy. Not only is there no suffering involved in this experience of running but there are feelings of expansion, freedom, and limitlessness. Usually the longer the distance the more my body becomes attune to the experience of flow, and the less I am conscious of myself. The practice of meditation thus aids my running by allowing me to more easily slip into this state of self-forgetfulness.

You may think that self-forgetfulness is only useful in athletics, but the skill is most beneficial even in interpersonal relations. First of all, “right presence of mind” determines to a large extent the quality of my interaction with others. If I am only thinking of myself, then I will have no interest in hearing what another person has to say. Active listening, for example, is based upon one’s ability to forget oneself and become present to another person’s thoughts and feelings.

In addition, my thoughts often give me a sense of alienation. The more self-conscious I am, the more aware I am of the differences between myself and others. I can easily feel excluded or inadequate. When comparing myself to others, my thoughts tend to send me messages that I am better, worse, or somewhere in between. What would it be like if I never compared myself with others?

Charismatic people understand the art of self-forgetfulness. They are able to merge with others almost elusively, as children do. What makes their magnetic charm so irresistible is that their level of presence is contagious. They allow themselves to be moved by a certain energy not entirely their own but something of the dynamic produced between two or more people within the flux of the interaction. This intoxicating power invites others to join the charismatic person in the dance of human spontaneity. In short, the charismatic person invites others to forget themselves. Furthermore, positive self-confidence is a result of self-forgetfulness and self-trust. The charismatic person trusts in her instincts to such a degree that her every social grace is flawless. We see this because her spontaneous actions are born out of the unconscious, and nothing is calculated or pre-planned.

I understand that I must forget the limits I have prescribed for myself on a regular basis. I wish to be in a constant state of surpassing my boundaries and my preconceived notions of who I am or what I can or cannot accomplish. I know that to grow I must fully immerse myself in the experience before me even when I am terribly afraid and unable to let go. When it feels the hardest to let go, that is precisely when I must do it. As I learn to trust in my deepest experience, I will go on to accomplish greater and greater things. But the object is not the accomplishment itself, for the accomplishment is a mere token of the spiritual feat that takes place in the heart. True accomplishment is purposeless, spontaneous, and free. Because true accomplishment is done not by man or woman but by God. We are informed by our genius, the genius in all of us, the genius that guides us from the depths of our unconscious.

7/12/2005