How I Latihan
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Meister Eckhart: “God
is not found in the soul by adding anything but by the process of subtraction.”
Pewarta Vol. V, No. 6. April,
1968: It is better to speak only of that which is in
accordance with your own experience up to now; namely, the movement of life
which you have received and which we call the latihan
kedjiwaan.
Curious,
isn’t it? Pak Subuh, who undoubtedly knew more about the latihan than the rest
of us, said, many times, that we who do the latihan should speak only about our
own experience of “the movement of life”: the
latihan. Following this suggestion, reports abound, fanciful or real, about the
effects of the exercise on the practitioners’ lives but no one, to my
knowledge, reports on what they actually do when practising it. This essay is
an attempt to tell you, in the first person, what I do in the latihan with a
minimum of reference to its results. I
only know my own experience but I believe there are as many possible different
personal descriptions of the latihan as there are practitioners. I see no
reason for anyone to agree or disagree with what I do. Instead, I hope that
readers will reply with descriptions of their own.
Because
the latihan is an internal, private activity rather than a shared one, I
believe I need to furnish you, the reader, with a vocabulary unique to this
essay but drawn from our common experiences. When I later describe what goes on
during my latihans, I can be more precise than I would be if I struggled to
define words then.
I will
use only English words that have widespread meanings to describe what I do
while in latihan. As an exception I
will continue to refer to the spiritual exercise of Subud as ‘latihan’ because
Subud practitioners universally understand it, and because there is no simple,
unambiguous English substitute. I will not use such words as ‘nafsu’ or ‘jiwa’
and the like because they are labels which refer to a
Javanese world view and only make sense if you believe in the truth of that
worldview. Where I live, scientists, psychologists and people on the street
believe that they know what is meant by words like: thought, mind,
visualization, imagination, emotion and feeling. That belief does not mean that
they can replicate the experience of others but they can make sense of it
imaginatively.
By
‘mind’ I include all those activities that seem to occur within my skull
especially when my eyes are closed. Those activities include reasoning,
daydreaming, visualizing, remembering and invoking imaginatively replications
of the senses such as pictures and sounds.
I am sure you could add to the list. I will use the word ‘thought’ to
refer to purposeful mental activities, i.e. ideas, reasoning, visual
constructs, etc. intended to explore something rather than just participate in
it. By ‘emotions’ I refer to those
experiences of love, hate, fear and their derivatives such as awe, jealousy,
envy, lust and so forth. For me, the location of emotions is ambiguous though
related to the body. By ‘drives’ I
refer to those imperative, usually unconscious, compulsions: social, practical,
emotional, hormonal, relief of discomfort, strategic, moral, etc., that
underlie our actions. Thoughts are employed by drives to plan for, execute and
review goals requiring action in life. Success, obstruction and failure in the
attainment of goals produces emotions: pleasure, anger and disappointment
respectively. So emotions and mental activity result from drives, as does the
‘will’.
Emotions
strongly infuse the mind with pressures that may add a ‘charge’ to, for
instance, thoughts or memories. This charge may demand my attention to a
thought or a picture, making it difficult to
dismiss. Even my ever-present body, normally ignored, may demand attention by
being uncomfortable or by moving. The word ‘attention’ is central. Something
has to ‘pay attention’ if attention is to have a meaning. That ‘something’
changes depending on the focus of the attention. The body may pay attention
unconsciously when it automatically moves to avoid being hit by a rapidly
moving object. Attention may be paid by an ill defined ‘I’ while threading a
needle where the focus seems to be outside the skull. I will use ‘ego’ to describe the source of attention when the
focus seems to be within the skull. So, the ego, in this essay, is the point of
attentiveness that can watch the operations of the mind or the emotions. The
‘I’ that observes the ego, though, feels as though it is inside a small person,
me, inside my skull. This ‘small person’ is known as an ‘homunculus’.[1]
So, if I
experience a memory I may then become aware that my ego is watching the memory,
that is, I become aware that I am remembering. At that moment I could also
become aware of the existence of my ego via the attention of my homunculus, with which I identify but
which I cannot watch; that is, I become aware of paying attention to the
memory. Of course it is possible to
postulate a never-ending world of watchers watching watchers. However, I have
never experienced watching the homunculus and I don’t wish to describe
something I haven’t experienced. What
does matter to me is making sure the meaning of these words as they are used in
this essay is clear. Thus, I can label which
watcher is me at any given moment by using these specific words. Please note
that I am not saying that any of these watchers is the real me. I don’t know
which ‘I’ is the real me or whether the real me is something or somewhere else.
.
Let me
make another distinction, that between the ‘active’ and the ‘contemplative’
state, by using the vocabulary of a book called the Cloud
of Unknowing.[2] By
‘active state’ I mean the state of paying attention during the usual daily
activities of living. There are three active states: participatory, willful and daydreaming. During most active states I do not observe the
activities I am doing with any objectivity. I just participate in them—hence
‘participatory’. However, I—and you, I
believe—can comment to myself on my activities and make judgements about them. In other words, I appear to have a ‘will’ to direct my
waking activities —hence a ‘willful’ state. In the employ of that ‘will’ is
‘reason’ and ‘wish’. Reason appears to be related to mind and wish to emotions. These states
are not to be confused with the state in which an activity slips from attention
into a routine during which I daydream.
During those moments of drift, I have no consciousness
of participation or of will. My attention has been captured by the memory or the daydream.
In these
three active states I don’t watch my ego watching what I am doing or thinking. My attention is either captured through participation
in an activity, by a need to make a decision with my will or by daydreaming. Gurdjieff would, I believe, describe these states as
being machine-like because my actions are each a vector [3] of the
many drives, each originating in some discomfort.
Thus my will is not ‘free’ but determined by those
drives. Each vector is a different ‘I’. In the active state I fool myself into
thinking that my actions are from a single ‘me’ and tell myself that they are
the manifestations of my will when I’m really just along for the ride switching
from identity to identity as the situation changes.
The
contemplative state, unlike the active state, is entered through activation of
the watchers in the skull: the homunculus paying attention to the ego paying
attention to the mind. Normally,
because little can be done for long in the active life while these
contemplative observations take our full attention, the two states are
incompatible. However, the capacity momentarily to be contemplative can exist
during an active state when doing a habitual activity such as sweeping floors.
I hope
the word definitions and relationships reviewed above are sufficient to make
clear what follows while I try to describe what happens in my latihan.
When I
first started doing the latihan in 1962, I was conscious of several ideas
pertaining to it. They are recognizable
to all Subud members: submission, patience, trust and, in later decades,
courage; that thinking or emotions will prevent submission and therefore the
latihan; that being regular in doing the latihan is good; that the will should
be suspended in latihan; and lately, that one should pay attention during the
latihan. Other ideas such as that the latihan was prayer or worship and that I
would be communicating in the latihan with an undefined God left me cold.
After I
was opened I immediately moved. My latihans were very noisy and active. They
were muscular. Both movement and vocalization are created by the activity of
muscles. So while, in the beginning, I could let go and move, inside my skull
my mind was busy. The first thing I had to satisfy myself about was: “Was doing
the latihan dangerous?” That question faded as time passed and nothing beyond
what I could handle in the way of emotional disturbances occurred. The second
thing was to determine if my will was involved. I tried moving my body in
latihan because I wanted to, not because it just moved by itself. I was soon
able to tell the difference between willed and non-willed movement. Furthermore, I discovered that when I willed my
movements, something else in the world of my attention changed and I went into
a different state from the one I was experiencing in the rest of my latihan. I
began to make the distinction between the active and contemplative state. After a few months, then, I believed that the latihan
was not dangerous and that there was a difference between the active and
contemplative states. So you could say that I trusted the latihan. I had no
trouble with believing that regular attendance was necessary. The latihan was,
after all, an exercise. That left submission, patience and courage.
The
question of thoughts interfering with the latihan began to take centre stage.
If you are told not to think of an elephant what else can you think of? Just
deciding not to think didn’t work. Submission was apparently the path to not
thinking. But what did submission mean? I did (and do) believe in a creative
power in the universe and I did (and do) have a sense of having been created.
However, I had no sense of a place or direction to where I could submit. I translated,
with some help, the idea of submission into the idea of ‘letting go’, but
letting go of what? Thoughts, of course! From that realization followed a
life-long struggle.
How to
let go of mental activity became the focus of my latihan. At first, I tried letting go of thoughts in
a way similar to the way I earlier released my body to do what it wanted. If
you depress the clutch in a moving car with a manual transmission on a flat
road, the car will continue moving by coasting. I tried de-clutching my thoughts. The metaphor worked in that my
thoughts coasted in a life of their own while I paid less and less attention to
them.
This
approach was profitable. An increased
degree of calmness emerged. There was, however, a problem. The process only
worked for a very, very short time. Before I knew it I was daydreaming,
thinking out a problem, worrying about an outcome and so on, in other words no
longer contemplating. That is when I became aware of the fact that I could not
sustain ignoring the mind. I tried letting go and focussing on greater
submission even if I didn’t know what more to let go of. This took years. The
length of time I could maintain the state of letting go did increase though not
by much, maybe from two seconds to ten. The distractions of my mind hovered
around and continually won. Remembering to let go could not be sustained. All that time I felt good after latihan and
seemed to understand my life better. Such positive feedback meant that coming
to latihan, especially regularly, invited return because of its inherent
reward. The problem of making the mind vanish, however, still remained.
I had
taken a course of vision training before being opened with a wonderful teacher
who taught me a lot about seeing and relaxing using mental exercises. The
preparation for these exercises involved focussing my thoughts on a singular
scene: using my imagination I would systematically cover all the surfaces of a
room, remembered or invented, with black velvet. If I stuck with the mental
discipline I could create a visualized space that was entirely black and
therefore without any discernible content because all the edges would disappear
in blackness: no furniture, no lamps, no floor, no knick-knacks, nothing
visible. I remained focussed only on the details of the very black blackness
but on nothing else. If my attention wandered, which it did repeatedly, I
daydreamed without the consciousness of doing so until I became aware that I
had lost the discipline to maintain the black world within. I then tried again
and again in a repeating cycle. The effect was very relaxing.
I
decided to apply the vision-training
discipline of the black world to controlling thoughts in the latihan. The
difference between the eye training and the latihan was that once I had established
the relaxed blackness, I had to let go of even that. Well, of course, with each
try the next thing I knew I was daydreaming or speculating on some active life
problem. So began a long process of years leading up to the present day. The
length of time I daydreamed was often very long, sometimes most of the latihan.
Over time I became aware at shorter intervals that I had been trapped by a
distraction. The length of the cycle, therefore, shortened. (I should mention
that each latihan begins now as though I had never done one before and
progresses though most of the stages discussed here.) I repeated the routine
using the black world with each latihan but the results over time changed and
were measurable. The ‘black’ state became a ‘blank’ or ‘void’ state, a state of
little or no mental activity. My capacity to retain that void state for more than a second or two started to
increase—with setbacks. For a short time, at least, while easily disturbed, the
void state could achieve its own stability, i.e. without having to be
maintained. I can now sometimes stay in that void state for many seconds,
perhaps minutes, and I remember that I have been distracted more quickly. Because the void state is no long fleeting I
have time to submit to it by trying to let go of the ego observer. That process
of submission or letting go is like leaning into the void and trying to sink
into it. Because I was not now paying as much attention to the maintenance of
the void state, I could try to participate in it in the same way that I would
participate in daydreaming, that is without paying attention to what I was
doing. So the transformation I hoped for was from
being unconscious of participating in a daydream to becoming unconscious of
participating in a void state, that is, in a non-thinking, very empty state.
So, over
time, being aware of my ego observing became easier and easier for me. The
ability to let that attention-to-the-void-state sink into submission without
slipping into daydreaming, however, has not been available to me so far. I’m
still working on it. The power of the mind to divert never goes away.
Submission or ‘letting go’ is often described
as ‘will-lessness’. The question of the will in latihan is, I believe, subtle.
I don’t try to suppress my active life ‘will’ but rather try to not to pay
attention to the sources of that will—as discussed before: the unconscious
drives. My ‘will’ is excluded by the void state because the manifestations of
the drives—thoughts and emotions—are quiet. However, you may argue that I’m
using my will to maintain the void state discipline. That may be correct. If
that is true, for me the ‘will’ employed to maintain discipline seems located
in a different place from the will to do things in the active life. Perhaps the forces directing contemplative
attention are different. Perhaps I’m fooling myself. I don’t know.
For a
while I slept through most of my latihans. I don’t know whether I was
sleep-deprived at the time or not. I don’t think I was though it may have been
a factor. I now believe that letting go to sleeping is just another distraction
in the latihan to divert me from paying attention. Sleeping substitutes a dream state for staying awake, paying
attention and trying to let go.
Sleeping is much less work. I don’t allow sleeping in my latihan now.
A more
significant obstacle to letting go completely is a particular kind of fear. The
source seems to be a fear of losing control, even of being embarrassed by my
possible behaviour. Permission to allow
anything in latihan doesn’t help. This fear is so absolute that it feels as
though it is about losing identity. It may be the fear one would expect in the
common mystical metaphor of the drop disappearing into the ocean. I really
would like to know the trick of allowing the merging to happen but the fear
always wins. So is this a failure of trust? Is this the point where courage
makes the difference? Is this the need for courage that Pak Subuh speaks of? I
don’t know.
As a
brief digression from examining the inner workings of my latihans, let me say
how important external discipline is to the process. Pak Subuh’s suggestion
that two latihans a week are a necessary minimum and that a third is useful has
worked well for me. One latihan a week results in a period of recurring inner unease
between latihans until the next latihan removes it. Two are like treading
water, staying afloat with small but successful void states. The third latihan makes possible a
noticeable improvement in the retention of my void states. More does nothing negative but does not make
accessing the desired state easier. At
one time doing more than three a week created a state of unease between
latihans but that no longer happens. Since becoming isolated from a group, I
have moved into a pattern employing a forty-minute latihan with a very short
initial quiet period. The first ten minutes of the latihan is usually a warm-up
or preparation in any case.
I think
it is important to say that discipline also extends into the latihan itself. The process described above is a cycle requiring me
constantly to retry: letting go followed by paying attention to work further on
blackness-blankness-void, to slipping unconsciously into daydreaming or to
mentally working on some active life problem, to remembering again that I have
forgotten that I am in latihan and should try again. The need to recognize
attention failure and to restore it without regretting the failure is a
struggle like constantly keeping a plate spinning on a pole. It does become
easier over time as in any exercise. The strongest threat for me is the
intrusion of mental commentary about what I’m trying to do. This commentary is
clever. It masquerades as a part of the process because it is an assessment of
the process. But, in fact, it is just
thinking. Remembering that it is thinking in order to stop it is most
difficult.
And
finally in this digression, changes of meaning have occurred to a couple of
words. Just as the meaning of submission has shifted for me into ‘letting go’,
a still broader meaning of both ‘submission’ and ‘letting go’ has merged into
‘acceptance’, a meaning made possible, I believe, by the latihan (or by
age). So too, the word ‘patience’, which, for me, originally meant not being
‘impatient’, has been replaced for me by ‘perseverance’ a reference to dogged
discipline. So I persevered.
Now I
would like to resume my description by examining another aspect of the latihan,
an aspect that also required the need for perseverance. After about eighteen years of latihan I
began to experience stagnation. I was beginning to get the void state a bit
under control but nothing more happened. I felt stuck and was becoming bored. I
then had an experience that fitted the description of a very short mystical
experience as defined by students of mysticism. It saved my latihan.
Flowing
from that experience, in a flood of fresh knowledge extending over several
days, I became aware of the fact that I was not letting go of everything in
latihan. I thought I had been letting go quite well and I felt quite
self-congratulatory about it in spite of my boredom. However, into my latihans had crept a confusion that interfered
with the clarity of the process described before about finding and sustaining a
void state. I began to feel disoriented by this confusion. I was not confused
within my mind, which was being regularly
quietened by the void state. The confusion was present whether I was
daydreaming, in a void state or any other state. It was all pervasive, just
‘there’. Its intensity varied. I couldn’t continue to focus on my ego
maintaining attention. As always
happens in latihan, I had the usual struggle to let go, to achieve blankness,
then to let that go and enter into and maintain a void and then to participate
in that void. But accompanying this process from shortly after the start of the
latihan through most of its length was this new disorientation. I was treating
the confusion as a new enemy, a new attempt by some part of me to divert me
away from the receiving state which I associated with a void. Now, suddenly,
while doing my daily routines as a farmer, that is, not in latihan, it became
clear to me that rather than fight this state I should allow it, and accept it
as well. The result was a remarkable and total renaissance of my latihan, a
renewal often still with me to the present day.
I came
to welcome the appearance of that confusion and I learned to sink into it as
though into a soft bed. I remembered that in the Cloud
of Unknowing [4] the title referred to a state of
contemplation much welcomed by the author. Rather than a cloud I think of the
state as that of being in a fog. But, as described in the Cloud, the foggy state is not part of the mind. It
actually supports a continuation of the void with a positive experience that is
more accessible than the negative state of nothingness. For me now, entering
into this fog is where I wanted to be. The fog seems to have a location inside
and around my head. Experiences have come with the fog. For instance, I have
felt as though I have risen above it to a sort of crystalline, clear, still
world. That experience did not continue to recur. I have also become
intermittently aware of the ‘Cloud of Forgetting’, also referred to in the Cloud, as being below the head and into which
items from the mind such as ideas and memories can be tossed.
These
experiences have no importance in themselves. Obviously they matter to me but
they are of no necessary importance to anyone else. What does matter is
something I have not mentioned before. None of my efforts, and you can see that
I have made long-term efforts, were of any use without help. Simply practising
could have extended the time I could maintain my attention on a void state. But
something helped me in revealing that I was failing to let go to the fog, an attitude
that I only became aware of spontaneously. Something in me pushed it under my
nose. I don’t think that information came into my mind simply because I
continued to do the latihan in spite of its staleness. I do think that just
doing latihan and not making an effort would have soon resulted in my leaving
it as the juices dried up. You can call that something that helped ‘God’ if you
wish. I prefer to think of it as a knowing sub-conscious part of me that might
be of divine origin or not. What it is doesn’t matter, but I am grateful to it.
I will
not go into further detail by examining small events that occur in the latihan
as they do in life. The above description is a scaffold for a number of repeating experiences ranging from a
complete inability to do anything by way of discipline to a multitude of
diversions in which my mind did, in fact, provide unexpected perceptions about, and
solutions to, stuff I was dealing with in my life. You can interpret those
events as being guidance if you wish, though usually, for me, they were not
dissimilar to active life ‘Aha!’ moments.
What has
all this recitation meant? I promised that I would only write about what I did
in the latihan. Many things have happened in my life that I would like to
ascribe to the latihan. However, for me
to ascribe such moments to the latihan would be speculation. I have no proof,
no, not even for myself that those things came from the latihan. They just seem
to have done so. Remember, like you, I have no parallel life lacking the
latihan: a control existence against which I could compare, as in an
experiment, what is in my present life but missing in that other life.
A couple
of insights do seem to me to relate to the recitation above. A quote from Melinda Wallis on the
CongressNews listserver seems worth looking at. She wrote: “Well, what is the benefit of doing the Latihan for
decades?…The benefit is that the people gradually become more and more their
own self. Our individuality is made manifest. I also don't feel an empty void
inside myself….”
That
quote rings true to me. The discipline of paying attention in the latihan when
letting go of mental distractions creates a familiarity with an internal,
personal world that is increasingly available during my active life. That
familiarity does seem to provide a solid sense of self-identity that replaces,
when needed, the confusing variety of ‘I’s that Gurdjieff refers to. Do I definitely know what I am? No, but
the place seems clearer. I know where I am.
Knowing
where I am seems to have had a philosophical result though the link is hard to
demonstrate. I no longer think that the mystery of why good or bad things
happen to people can be cracked. So I have had to give up, with some pain,
ideas such as karma that provided comfortable explanations for good and bad
events. I have developed a greater and greater sense of doubt about everything
that others have told me. I no longer think that the universe is just or that
it is purposeful. I no longer think that I can make decisions that ‘matter’.
Don’t get me wrong, I still play the worldview speculation game and behave as
though what I do is significant—why else would I write this?—but I hope that I
won’t be captured, through that playing, by some attractive set of beliefs
which would then limit me with rules and explanations. I still enjoy living an
active life for its own sake and pretend that my being active matters. However,
if I’m probed about its significance, I can’t find it. Perhaps knowing where I
am has given me the confidence needed to doubt.
Knowing where I am seems also to give me
confidence about what life throws at us. The complexity of the causes of events
is often beyond satisfactory analysis. As a result of my limited capacity to
understand causes I have the feeling that events appear to be random. Thus, without a philosophical framework
available to explain events, I am left to greet them with pleasure or rage or,
alternatively, with equanimity, neither exulting in the highs or being trodden
on by the lows. I prefer the equanimity option but I don’t think I can decide
to choose it. I can only be grateful for it. It manifests only as a luxurious
reflection of my lucky state. In sum, it seems the experience of knowing where
my identity resides in latihan helps with accessing equanimity in my active
life. Objectively I don’t see my life as being any more smooth than before but
my responses to its vagaries seem less extreme. That is the meaning, I believe,
of Pak Subuh’s often expressed anticipation that the progress of the latihan,
enterprises or meetings would “go smoothly.” [5] I find it interesting that I
perceive the same messy world of events to be more and more smooth. Not all old
men do.
Notes:
1. The Random House College Dictionary: a
diminutive human; midget.
2. The Cloud of Unknowing and Other Works,
Anonymous, translated by Clifton Wolters, published by Penguin ISBN
0-14-044385-1
3. The Random House College Dictionary: Math—a
quantity possessing both magnitude and direction, represented by an arrow the
direction of which indicates the direction of a quantity and the length of
which is proportional to the magnitude. The
author’s analogy is that the vector of a person’s behaviour is a product of the
goal and intensity (direction and magnitude) of an active life drive which
results in an action to satisfy the goal of that drive in proportion to the
drive’s strength. For example: hunger aims a person in the direction of food.
The hungrier the person, the more intense is the behaviour to obtain food.
Multiple, simultaneous drives produce a blending of vectors. Some vectors may
be mutually cancelling, resulting in
paralysis.
4. See 2 above.
5. A sample: 79 CDK 13: “The material or
satanic force does indeed become a temptation for people who are unable to
regulate it. If they can regulate it, like an architect or engineer who designs
and completes a beautiful great building, these temptations will still be there
but they will not influence them, and so the work can go smoothly and these
people can achieve the aims for which they hope.”