Hara by Karlfried Graf Dürckheim

#species/literature #status/seedling

Citation

Dürckheim, Karlfried Graf. Hara: The Vital Center of Man. Inner Traditions, 2004.

Quotes

Collations

Writing is both outer work and inner work

In this inner work more is involved than the accomplishment of an outward action. Inner work is concerned with what outlasts the finished outward action.

Mastery happens only when success is absolutely certain

One speaks of a "master"—whether of an outer action or inner work—only when success is achieved not only now and then, but with absolute certainty.

Certainty of success requires both mastery of one's state of mind and skill

Certainty of success presupposes more than perfected skill alone. What is this more? It is the state or condition of the performer which makes his performance infallible. However well-performed an action may be, however well-controlled a technique, as long as the man using it is subject to moods and atmosphere, unrelaxed and easily disturbed, for example, when he is being watched, then he is a master only in a very limited degree. He is master only of technique and not of himself. He controls the skill he has but not what he is in himself. And if a man can do more than he is his skill often fails him in critical moments.

One can intend to do art beyond outward achievement and primarily for inner development

This is practice understood as exercise (exercitium). Its purpose is not an outer visible result but an inner achievement. In practice of this kind the person developing, not the deed or the visible work as such, is what matters. And as surely as genuine mastery of performance or skill presupposes a certain personal inner quality so, conversely, the preparing of oneself for performance or skill can be used as a way leading to inner mastery.

More important than outward success then is that personal quality which will, when developed produce not only the perfect external result, but which will have its real meaning and value within itself.

For the Japanese every art as well as every sport has a purpose beyond mere outward achievement.

When practicing art for inner development, one aims to do it effortlessly

In practicing it he aims at that quality of the whole man which produces results that appear to be casual, unintentional, without conscious effort—just as an apple, when ripe, drops from the tree, without any help from the tree.

It will be due then to a condition in which a deeper, one could say, a supernatural strength is released in us achieving, without our assistance as it were, the perfect result.

In the East, what is considered masterly is only that which proves inner maturity, which produces ripe fruit as a tree does, effortlessly.

The intellect is no longer needed, the will is silent, the heart is quiet, and happily and surely a man accomplishes his work without effort.

A man who, in any field, has once experienced this inner power and has once learned to surrender himself to it, stands at the beginning of a way on which he is borne along by a new, free, dedicated life-feeling.

This is art aspiring for absolute humility and yielding to tariki.

When we focus on inner development rather than outer achievement we don't settle on an outward achievement

But the point is this—when a man, perhaps after a long struggle, has achieved a certain form in himself, in his life, in his work, only one misfortune can then befall him—that fate should allow him to stand still in that achievement. If fate means well by him it knocks his success out of his hands before it sets and hardens. To do just this during practice is the task of the good teacher. For what is the point of all this? Not the hitting of the target. For what ultimately matters, in learning archery or any other art, is not what comes out of it but what goes into it. Into, that is into the person. The self-practice in the service of an outward accomplishment serves, beyond it, the development of the inner man, And what endangers this inner development more than anything else? Standing still in his achievement. A man must go on increasing, endlessly increasing."

It is a school of life—or to use a modern expression, an existential practice.

Once outward technique is mastered, focus on inner work

At the beginning it is, of course, necessary to acquire the outward technique. But when the outward form is mastered, the real work begins, the unflagging work on oneself.

But practice in the real sense begins only when technique as such has been mastered, for only then can the aspirant perceive to what extent self pride and the desire to shine, as well as fear of failure, obstruct his path.

Outward success only happens when we let go of ego and ambition

It can be achieved only by the arduous process of refining out the vain and ambitious I which, precisely because it is so eager for outward success, endangers success. When this I is transcended success will come—achieved, not through the outer skill directed by an ambitious will, but through a new inner Being.

"Certainly a man who has devoted years or decades to the development of certain faculties can produce results which seem miraculous to the untrained. But the question is, what is the value of such achievements? If they are nothing but the result of a technique acquired from motives of pride they have no importance. Only when they give evidence of inner mastery are they of value."

Only from an undisturbed, quiet heart can something perfect flower.

The most persistent obstacle is the clinging to the I which, by its self-will, again and again prevents the manifestation of the acquired skill. Only when the interference of the I has been eliminated can the perfect achievement emerge—but then as the fruit of inner maturity.

The masterpiece is produced by a supernatural strength from within which can act only when the "little I" no longer pushes itself forward.

But the inward gain of automatization lies eventually in the hope and possibility of withdrawing—neutralizing-the "fixing" I. Only where the I-power is no longer needed can success, as it were, blossom forth of itself.

As long as a task or an action depend exclusively on our capacity for outward, material constancy or on controlled will-power, and both are motivated and controlled solely by the I, all human activity rests on a weak, uncertain foundation. Firmer ground is found only where man is rooted elsewhere, that is, when in his self- and his world-consciousness he is anchored, in something different. Therefore when the prime purpose of action is the perfection of an external achievement, it is imperative to find a different inner center of gravity..

Demonstration of effortless achievement grounded on inner work

Master Hayashi knelt on the floor, that is, he sat upright on his heels, his brow serene and his shoulders loose with that freedom of the upper body which is supported by strength from below, and which is characteristic of those practiced in sitting. With an inimitably calm and at the same time fluid movement the master took up the brush. For a moment his eyes rested almost as if lost on the paper and then it seemed as if he completely freed himself inwardly so as to let the picture within emerge unimpeded, quite free of any fear that it might fail, or any personal determination that it had to succeed. And so it emerged.

Concentration is necessary to master technique

Only unflagging concentration while the I keeps its object and itself in view, produces that one-pointedness and perseverance of will and aim which is the prerequisite for any advance in technique, that is, until the technique has become automatic.

Inner mastery through mastery of art happens only when the ego is let go

And, conversely, only where perfect technique in deed or work is possible without the participation of the I can man, in the midst of his action, become aware of Being working within him, so that the act itself becomes the gateway to enlightenment.

Actions from the ego is permeated by the fear of failure

Every action motivated by the little ego is permeated by the fear of failure for this would endanger the ego's position, if only by loss of prestige.

Literature notes

In meditation, our return to our breathing is the reenactment, the mirroring of what happens in our larger life, which is our retreat from the rambling of the ego to the stillness of our connection with the Greater Life.

Writing is both outer work and inner work

Granted, writing is putting thoughts (invisible) into concrete, visible words on paper. It has an outward trajectory. But writing is an interplay between this inward and outward trajectory. A writer writes because he desires the outward direction. Otherwise, he will just keep his thoughts within. But without inner work, what is put into paper could be in authentic and does not change and develop what is within. Enrichment should come from writing in both trajectories.

The goal is holism: to build faith in myself while I build faith in community. And this has to happen simultaneously. Although simultaneously is the ideal, it doesn't happen immediately.

In my experience due to the already ultra competitive nature of writing communities, a budding writer may not reach the point where they are ready to go out unless they begin to strengthen their center: a place where they could return.

I belong to the whole. I am the whole. So when I write for others or for myself, I returned to myself.

Writing is a faith practice

Now, I'm thinking about whether mastery is the right word to use when thinking about the aim of writing or even spirituality. The image of a master triggers, the image of a slave. And this metaphor is very jiriki-based. I argue that you can't really 100% master yourself and master something. So what if the aspiration is faith? I remember Rem and how he seemed to be full of positivity, always trusting that things will go well.

What if we write not to be good at it, but simply to be as receptive as we can to become vessels of whatever arrives and by continuously with doing so, trusting that the source will not run dry and trusting—having faith—that this will change us as well as others. A tariki-based writing practice. With this yielding attitude, I would say and argue that it is impossible to fail because we are simply getting out of the way and letting the Great Life happen through us.

I remember seiza's role in Jodo Shinshu. Seiza is minimalist in method and aspiration. Writing is seiza in a life that aims to develop faith. If faith in the Great Life and the Great Cosmos is the aim, then the only real skill to develop is listening—deep listening. And writing could be that practice. Unfortunately, if this is the aim of one's writing practice, it may take away from other goals like beauty, popularity, prestige, etc. because not everything that is listened to is always beautiful or popular. The main work to master (or better, to nurture) is establish writing as a "listening lifestyle / lifestyle of listening."

What are my models for this? And how can I focus on reading this? And how can I focus on writing this?

Writing is kiitsu

Writing, the act of writing, since it is an act of expression is simultaneously an act of leaving and returning. One leaves the self by going to the paper. When one is on the paper, something is immediately changed within—triggered perhaps because of the movement of one's hands and seeing ones writing on the page. And so even if I sit alone to write, I already have an audience: it is I and if I may include the whole inanimate world around me. The paper, the pen, the room—they are my audience. I write and I immediately read. It is like talking and hearing myself. I remember Lea saying that sometimes she just needs to hear herself. And she's changed and benefited just by this act. Several artists and writers never wanted to share their work to others. Emily Dickinson, that great photographer, and I remember fictitious artists like that in Patterson and Perfect Days.

And so we don't have to even share our work to the world to be changed. Of course, we are always encouraged to try to connect with the larger world as much as we can for the right motives: primarily to practice compassion. But we don't have to if we don't want to. And even if we want to, we don't have to hurry. We can always take our time.

Writing can simply be a self-development practice

Not a spiritual practice, because a spiritual practice necessitates both an inward and outward movement. But I could imagine one intending writing as a purely self-development endeavor. I don't advocate it, but it is possible. In this situation, inner change is more important than outer change. But the execution of writing skills (even those that aspire to create beauty, and not settle on simply developing listening) is done primarily to change the inner person. One can even pursue outward goals and succeed eventually and even these could be used to change the person within as the primary goal.

But for me, I am partial to an intentional aspiration to hit two birds with one stone. It won't be perfect, but I aspire to change others as well as myself through my writing practice.

Aspire for effortlessness in writing

In the Hara book, it tells something about aspiring for results that are excellent, yet arrived at through a near effortless manner. The book uses the metaphor of a ripe fruit that drops from the tree by itself at its time. Per the book, this is what is treated as "mastery" in the East. When one yields to the Great Life and still so happens produces something that changes us and others—this is mastery.

Contemplative writing sets itself apart because of this process it is a form of writing where in intellect is not necessary, the wheel is silent, as well as the heart, and one simply becomes a vessel for the flow of words.

To return to the self is always important

While I believe that writing has to move outward and inward simultaneously in its most ideal state, I also recognize that majority of our writing culture around the world and in the Philippines emphasize outer achievement more than inner achievement. Because of this, it is important to emphasize the danger of a purely outward-facing writing practice. For the Hara book, the danger of a purely outward-facing art is that it eventually leans on achievement and never progresses. Moreover, what comes out of the practice becomes more important than what comes into the artist. In order to protect inner achievement, that is to nurture and help it grow more, it is important, I think, to develop a healthy detachment from the writing artifacts we reproduce, whether they become popular or not. Much of the outward trajectory of writing is beyond our control. The Other Power rules over most of it. What I can only control, for example, is how much effort I put in trying to get my work out there. But I can't control much of how the work will be received. Given this, it is always important to return to myself after returning to others (to the outer circles of my being).

Mastery of technique could lead to important lessons

Being really good at certain techniques in writing is not discouraged. It is encouraged. This is all part of the process. A more lose and uncomplicated style of writing is still a technique. They are all part of a wide range of styles. Obviously, there are certain styles that dominate because of the reigning practices. The contention between styles and practices is a different topic of itself. But taken as a whole, technique, whatever it is, serves an important role in writing. The Hara book has this to say about technique:

"but practice in the real sense begins only when technique as such has been mastered, for only then can thee aspirant perceive to what extent self pride and the desire to shine, as well as fear of failure, obstruct his path."

All forms of art, expression, and discipline where a community of practice is also situated in always has a potential for prestige. Prestige is one path in art, and all artists could experience some of it. But with it comes the danger of being obstructed—obstruction for me is imbalancing the whole. When I was always looking at how I could get into workshops and be published in prestigious journals and publications, I saw how this race was eating up all my time. Contemplative writing was vanishing. It was a wake up call to me that I find my balance. I continue to send applications and submit work for publications, but I've been very selective, and this race no longer eat up my days.

Remove ego

An ideal situation might be the alignment of these things:

The Hara book suggests that when the I ego is transcended (perhaps simply by strengthening or listening process and yielding into the force within us), outward achievement becomes easier. In the contrary, when the ego is too strong, it becomes even more difficult to achieve outer success.

But to be clear, many egoful people achieve success because they inhabit an egoful environment. The Hara book questions the value of successful work that only fuels pride: an outward-focused, ego-driven sentiment. It says that outward achievement is only truly valuable when they shape one's way of living – one's inner achievement and trust. While this is a value judgment, I am partial to it.

So, when the three aforementioned things align, it is to be celebrated. I will argue, though, that even when just the two things are aligned, they must be celebrated. I will argue more that we have to modify how we define outer achievement. Outer achievement is not just milestones (awards, publications, or fellowships). An even more important outward achievement is direct effect on people we touch with our work. A work called win an award given by taste masters, but may never land to the soul of a single person. I remember Dan Blank here. What is most important is the difference we make in the lives of people whose faces we know.

Possible formula:

Writing for inner achievement must be egoless

Writing for inner change also needs that the ego is neutralized. Otherwise, it will make inner achievement, a form of pride and race to run.

Ego-driven writing fears failure

The ego is afraid to lose prestige, and so it is afraid to fail. So it won't fail, it takes the following actions: compromise voice to align with what is popular, compromise values and personality to gain friends and allies, and even not right at all. Ego-driven writing can't celebrate the success of others and is always envious and competitive.

In contrast, one that has let go of ego has full faith in themselves, in others, in community, the cosmos, and the Great Life that happens in them and through them. Whatever comes out of their mind, hearts, and writing is simply a part of this larger thing, and therefore can't fail. All they have to do is listen and write.

Remove ego for writing to be a spiritual practice

If I want writing to be a spiritual practice, I have no choice, but to let go of ego. Only when this happens, can I rely of the Great Life to take hold. I can't think about pleasing others, only helping them. Or better yet not think of them at all and yield.

Prompts