Vibrating with Possibility
"There’s such a thing as unconditional expression,
That does not come from self or other.
It manifests out of nowhere,
Like mushrooms in a meadow,
Like hailstorms, like thundershowers."
Chögyam Trungpa
The Art of Calligraphy
Shoshin is a concept in Zen Buddhism that means “beginner’s mind.” Free of judgments, preconceptions, and assumptions, beginner’s mind invites us to see everything and everyone as if for the first time. Filled with curiosity, wonder—even awe—every image the eye touches is transformed into a work of art.
A while back, I attended an art exhibition at one of my favorite New York galleries that literally rocked the way I see the world. The concept was a simple one: the show consisted of everyday items, placed on black metal stands, and showcased in bright gallery lights. In a new context, a worn catcher’s mitt became a work of art. The beauty of its rich, worn leather nearly took my breath away, and the cracks of its aged surface evoked the same emotion as admiring the wise face of an elderly man whose wrinkled face reflects the roadmap of a rich life. A common garden spade encrusted with dried dirt became a precious object of beauty. My eyes followed the steep curve to its sharp point; its cool metal tip warmed by the rich black earth.
In beginner’s mind we are steeped in the present moment, and every second vibrates with possibility. For years, I’ve been studying the Alexander Technique, an educational method designed to help improve posture. Alexander has taught me a new way of standing—no, of actually being in the world—where my body is poised for whatever may occur. Instead of placing my attention forward, I am equally focused on the space to my right and left sides, above, below and behind me. Whatever the moment calls for, I am prepared to move. I am vibrating with possibility.
I often experience this feeling when I paint. With no perceived notion of what to paint, I pick up the brush and dip it into whichever color calls to me. Red? Yes, red. A red mark, now follow with green. Hours later, I stand in front of a portrait of a man I’ve never met. Perhaps this is what Chögyam Trungpa meant in the poem above about unconditional expression.
What would my life be like if I could live more of it in beginner’s mind—if I were more open, innocent, receptive, curious, attentive, and vibrating with possibility? Am I being unrealistic, only setting myself up for disappointment? My inner critic thinks so. He hisses, “Who are you kidding, Randy. That’s impossible.” Is my inner critic right? It’s true the moment something becomes familiar, my mind takes over, making assumptions, calling up memories, and creating expectations and fears that prevent me from connecting to the present moment. But while I don’t have control over many things in my life, I can control choice. When I catch my mind taking off, I can pause, take a deep breath, and choose to see whatever is in front of me with fresh eyes.
I may not do this often, but when I do reality shifts and I see the world in new ways—in perhaps the way it’s meant to be seen. Trees come alive and dance before my eyes, and I am filled with awe. I see the innocence in the eyes of a dear friend and feel my heart swell with love and compassion. Every object I see, every person I meet, and every activity I embark on becomes a new experience. Experience flows, changing second by second, as heart, mind, body and breath converge with the present moment. Life force freely flows through me. I am totally alive.
That does not come from self or other.
It manifests out of nowhere,
Like mushrooms in a meadow,
Like hailstorms, like thundershowers."
Chögyam Trungpa
The Art of Calligraphy
Shoshin is a concept in Zen Buddhism that means “beginner’s mind.” Free of judgments, preconceptions, and assumptions, beginner’s mind invites us to see everything and everyone as if for the first time. Filled with curiosity, wonder—even awe—every image the eye touches is transformed into a work of art.
A while back, I attended an art exhibition at one of my favorite New York galleries that literally rocked the way I see the world. The concept was a simple one: the show consisted of everyday items, placed on black metal stands, and showcased in bright gallery lights. In a new context, a worn catcher’s mitt became a work of art. The beauty of its rich, worn leather nearly took my breath away, and the cracks of its aged surface evoked the same emotion as admiring the wise face of an elderly man whose wrinkled face reflects the roadmap of a rich life. A common garden spade encrusted with dried dirt became a precious object of beauty. My eyes followed the steep curve to its sharp point; its cool metal tip warmed by the rich black earth.
In beginner’s mind we are steeped in the present moment, and every second vibrates with possibility. For years, I’ve been studying the Alexander Technique, an educational method designed to help improve posture. Alexander has taught me a new way of standing—no, of actually being in the world—where my body is poised for whatever may occur. Instead of placing my attention forward, I am equally focused on the space to my right and left sides, above, below and behind me. Whatever the moment calls for, I am prepared to move. I am vibrating with possibility.
I often experience this feeling when I paint. With no perceived notion of what to paint, I pick up the brush and dip it into whichever color calls to me. Red? Yes, red. A red mark, now follow with green. Hours later, I stand in front of a portrait of a man I’ve never met. Perhaps this is what Chögyam Trungpa meant in the poem above about unconditional expression.
What would my life be like if I could live more of it in beginner’s mind—if I were more open, innocent, receptive, curious, attentive, and vibrating with possibility? Am I being unrealistic, only setting myself up for disappointment? My inner critic thinks so. He hisses, “Who are you kidding, Randy. That’s impossible.” Is my inner critic right? It’s true the moment something becomes familiar, my mind takes over, making assumptions, calling up memories, and creating expectations and fears that prevent me from connecting to the present moment. But while I don’t have control over many things in my life, I can control choice. When I catch my mind taking off, I can pause, take a deep breath, and choose to see whatever is in front of me with fresh eyes.
I may not do this often, but when I do reality shifts and I see the world in new ways—in perhaps the way it’s meant to be seen. Trees come alive and dance before my eyes, and I am filled with awe. I see the innocence in the eyes of a dear friend and feel my heart swell with love and compassion. Every object I see, every person I meet, and every activity I embark on becomes a new experience. Experience flows, changing second by second, as heart, mind, body and breath converge with the present moment. Life force freely flows through me. I am totally alive.
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