BEAUTY ARISES IN THE STILLNESS OF YOUR PRESENCE

 

What you have just described is something that I occasionally

experience for brief moments when I am alone and surrounded by

nature.

Yes. Zen masters use the word satori to describe a flash of insight, a

moment of no-mind and total presence. Although satori is not a

lasting transformation, be grateful when it comes, for it gives you a

taste of enlightenment. You may, indeed, have experienced it many

times without knowing what it is and realizing its importance.

Presence is needed to become aware of the beauty, the majesty, the

sacredness of nature. Have you ever gazed up into the infinity of

space on a clear night, awestruck by the absolute stillness and

inconceivable vastness of it? Have you listened, truly listened, to the

sound of a mountain stream in the forest? Or to the song of a

blackbird at dusk on a quiet summer evening? To become aware of

such things, the mind needs to be still. You have to put down for a

moment your personal baggage of problems, of past and future, as

well as all your knowledge; otherwise, you will see but not see, hear

but not hear. Your total presence is required.

Beyond the beauty of the external forms, there is more here:

something that cannot be named, something ineffable, some deep,

inner, holy essence. Whenever and wherever there is beauty, this

inner essence shines through somehow. It only reveals itself to you

when you are present. Could it be that this nameless essence and

your presence are one and the same? Would it be there without your

presence? Go deeply into it. Find out for yourself.

When you experienced those moments of presence, you likely didn’t

realize that you were briefly in a state of nomind. This is because the

gap between that state and the influx of thought was too narrow.

Your satori may only have lasted for a few seconds before the mind

came in, but it was there; otherwise, you would not have experienced

the beauty. Mind can neither recognize nor create beauty. Only for a

few seconds, while you were completely present, was that beauty or

that sacredness there. Because of the narrowness of that gap and a

lack of vigilance and alertness on your part, you were probably unable

to see the fundamental difference between the perception, the

thoughtless awareness of beauty, and the naming and interpreting of

it as thought: The time gap was so small that it seemed to be a single

process. The truth is, however, that the moment thought came in, all

you had was a memory of it.

The wider the time gap between perception and thought, the more

depth there is to you as a human being, which is to say the more

conscious you are.

Many people are so imprisoned in their minds that the beauty of

nature does not really exist for them. They might say, “What a pretty

flower,” but that’s just a mechanical mental labeling. Because they

are not still, not present, they don’t truly see the flower, don’t feel its

essence, its holiness — just as they don’t know themselves, don’t feel

their own essence, their own holiness.

Because we live in such a mind-dominated culture, most modern art,

architecture, music, and literature are devoid of beauty, of inner

essence, with very few exceptions. The reason is that the people who

create those things cannot — even for a moment — free themselves

from their mind. So they are never in touch with that place within

where true creativity and beauty arise. The mind left to itself creates

monstrosities, and not only in art galleries. Look at our urban

landscapes and industrial wastelands. No civilization has ever

produced so much ugliness.