Nature as Teacher: the flight of the brown pelican -- 2

"... centered in this place of attention, letting all the impressions be received."

Michel de Salzmann

In September, the brown pelicans ride the waves of Bogue Bank. Nowadays, fewer pelicans fly the beaches—typically, three to fifteen birds in a fly-by, maybe three or four flights a day. Once driven nearly to extinction by loss of habitat and chemical run-off from North Carolina’s farms and industries, they have returned. Those of us who have lived simply these many summers at this place are grateful. We stop what we’re doing and follow their glide path down this south-facing beach. Their flight touches on the sacred.

Brown pelicans

 We know their habits. They fly west in the early morning to feed on Bear Island, and east in the late afternoon to roost on Shackelford Banks. Possible descendants of Pterodactyls, and noble, they set their ancient heads with intention, three to five degrees to starboard or port, adjusted to the angle of the prevailing wind—not too much, not too little.

Waves shoal and approach the beach in parallel lines of blue. The pelicans ride the wave in silence, and with vast dignity. Their big bodies, mirrored only inches above the rising wave face, glide close to the impressions of the forces felt: thrust of heart-and-muscle power, drag of friction, lift of airfoil, and gravity. They respond in the moment—attentive, aligned, resilient, relaxed.

Each wave crests and, in turn, breaks beneath their broad wingspans, bringing air turbulence and signaling the loss of lift. As a single, snaking body, they respond both as a group and as individuals aware, pushing upward with wing-power, again transforming potential energy into kinetic energy. All this, in silent awareness. They have moved on, abandoning what does not support, seeking the subtle impression of uplift of the next incoming wave.

At the risk of slipping into anthropomorphism, I think of embodied awareness, direct perception, a felt presence, and moments lived close to an impression. I think of Nature as teacher.

Nature as teacher: energy and impressions

We understand that energy pours into our five chief senses every nanosecond. What we may not see, however, is that the physical phenomena we studied in college physics—compression and mechanical waves (sound and touch) and electromagnetic frequencies (from radio waves to visible light, from gamma rays to frequencies beyond our brain’s ability to perceive)—are, as Ouspensky describes them, the influences and vibrations that we receive as impressions. ¹

“… to live close to the impression is to live at last ..."

And each of these impressions is new! (Can we fathom this?) Then, how dare we receive the new in an environment of noise and clutter: affix an old label, haul up an old bias, or depend on an old form or idea to confront these new messages at the gates of perception! We are so quickly swallowed up in belief; we are so quick to react.. Better a quiet, uncluttered receiver so that impressions, received directly, can “metabolize” and become “food” for the nourishment of our souls.

With an impression received directly, there is no middleman here. No deceit. No negative emotion. There is only innocence. In the words of poet Donald Revell, “… to live close to the impression is to live at last, to be free of those awful ventriloquists, Convention and Memory."² It is as though each cosmic vibration has never been received before. Because it hasn’t. Each impression can be seen as a gift from one Being to another being.

On the other hand, an ordinary, mechanical reception of the new seems “dis-graceful.” The word “sacrilegious” (no relation to “religion”) comes to mind. It means “one who steals sacred things.” The word is derived from two Latin roots—sacer (sacred) and legere (to take). One should not demean, misappropriate, or muddy a gift from the Higher; there’s ego here.

Might we restrain ourselves from grasping impressions like greedy consumers, or tossing them into a bag like ungrateful children. And might we learn to discern who is receiving—the individual who has observed experiences, digested knowledge over the years, and is receiving impressions anew, or the one who is still holding onto the obstacles of old forms, old ideas, old beliefs, the oblivious one who identifies quickly? Can I see the difference?  Can I see that my state determines the quality of impressions I receive?

We are worked. We do not have to liberate ourselves. We do not have to fix anything. We do not have to create consciousness—it is always there. It is closer to us than we are to it, and it moves toward us.

In time, we see that we are worked. We do not have to liberate ourselves. We do not have to fix anything. We do not have to create consciousness—it is always there. It is closer to us than we are to it, and it moves toward us. Rumi said it well: “What you are seeking seeks you.” We do not have to work on being—it is who we are when thoughts, emotions, sensations, and perceptions are quiet, and we rest in awareness. It is the sacred I AM. Our work is best done by the quiet, uncluttered Self. And there is help with our attempts to find a path through a dark wood: Lord, have mercy ...

“Kill the Buddha”

What gets in the way of embodied awareness and direct perception? Many things of my creation and maintenance—beyond the scope of this piece—but I mention here one that interests me now. Working with the Gurdjieff ideas through the years—self-observation, identification, the three centers, the cosmic laws, our two natures, the food diagram, conscious labors and intentional suffering, super-effort, and all the rest—we experience the necessary tension of working on self, returning to the canon, taking on new tasks, observing action and resistance—and always, struggle. This long work has been necessary preparation, essential payment. Without preparation, what we create and maintain can easily be artificial and self-serving; the ceiling we fix in place remains low and impermeable. More often, it is habit and conditioning that I see. Sometimes, what I creaate is merely woo-woo.

But later, we may see that we have over-complicated matters with analytics. Or that we have fixed our inner work upon only one or two ideas or beliefs. Or that we have flattened a very high idea into some lower hybrid that justifies and self-soothes. Or we have convinced ourselves that we know. When we box a higher idea into a lower form, we lose lift and feel the drag—and then, identified with it, we defend it.

As a trusted guide in the teaching has advised,

"Sometimes you have to forget all of this completely. 'Kill the Buddha,' as the Zen koan suggests, and strike out onto new ground. You don't kow what that new ground is, but the search is open-ended. The beautiful thing about this gesture, when it's real, is that

the circle is fulfilled: the founders want nothing from us but an open-ended search." ³

Echoing these wise words, Michel de Salzmann was asked the question How to live simply?

“What is really needed? … Let go of old ideas, years and years of them. Abandon what is not necessary. They are obstacles. … Everything in life is in waves, up and down, and so with presence. Remain open and attentive, and it will find you. It needs you.” ⁴

A favorite essayist’s metaphor comes to mind: The first and second stages of a rocket are complex, requiring years of design, investment, and exacting work. At launch, they provide the fiery energy to reach escape velocity. Then, jettisoned and spent, they fall to earth when their work is done. ⁵

The small sphere atop the booster is released upward, free to explore the unknown. Entering this silence with humility becomes prayer. Awareness, perseverance, sincerity, and curiosity are aboard. We have reached the raw, outside edge of what we understand; we are released into unknowing and, here in the new place, we can express little in language. Here, only poetry dares, and then, not even that.

“What is really needed? … Let go of old ideas, years and years of them. Abandon what is not necessary. They are obstacles."

What remains? A sacred awareness that I am aware, and a silent spaciousness that encompasses the Whole. All else follows naturally. “Seek ye first ….” ⁶ The essential question arises: With the Buddha lying dead in the ditch, what is my work now? A new search begins at the threshold of this liminal space.

Again, from Michel:

“There is a heavenly quality, a finer vibration, freeing. There is also an earthly quality that can be received. Quite extraordinary to receive both impressions. Heavenly energy—to live quietly in it, attend to it because it draws the attention. At the same time, to be in life, in movement, centered in this place of attention, letting all the impressions be received. How to be true to yourself? One would have to find the place in one where both streams coexist.” ⁷

In moments of awareness, we see—often with surprise—that what we’ve been told to let go of in this life of receiving and releasing has already been let go without our meddling. All that stuff is no longer important; it no longer supports. It has been abandoned as unnecessary analysis. There is freedom here.

Once we experience real awareness, we know how to find that silent spaciousness again and again, and directly. I am reminded of the brown pelican, flying close to the wave face, sensing both its heavenly lift and its earthly plunge, finding the sweet spot. What currents, what waves, what rhythms might we discover to guide our open-ended search?

Where to go for a trustworthy teacher, an ever-present reminder of how to live one’s life? To Nature where tiny lessons are taught every nanosecond. Call it attention; call it presence; call it awareness. To the brown pelican, these states are natural. If once there was a way to get back home again, we know there still is. Nature shows the way.

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¹ Ouspensky, P. D., In Search of the Miraculous. (Harcourt, Inc.: New York, 1949), 181.

² Revell, Donald. The Art of Attention: The Poet’s Eye. (Greywolf Press: St. Paul, Minnesota, 2007), 21.

³ From a talk by Roger Lipsey, “What is a teaching? Part 4”, given in Cambridge in 2011. Available here: https://www.gurdjieffsocietymass.org/post/what-is-a-teaching-4

⁴ Shaw, Fran. The Next Attention. (Indications Press: New York, 2010), 74-75.

⁵ Vivian, Robert. “Thoughts on the Meditative Essay,” Numéro Cinq, Vol. III, No. 1, January 2012.

⁶ Matthew 6:33

⁷ Shaw, 130.