Transcriber: Mariko Yamada Reviewer: Ellen Maloney
Okay.
There is a story behind this photograph
Because of Covid,
2020 was, as you know, a very strange year of isolation.
But I found myself in an even stranger space.
I had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
And I ended up on the eighth floor
of the south wing of the Kyoto University Hospital.
Everything in my life had changed.
When you get such a diagnosis,
you come face-to-face with your own mortality.
So I thought, what does that mean?
Well, the impending and absolute dissolution
with all connection to this wonderful world.
The people and places I love,
my work, my mental and physical capabilities,
my senses,
my heartbeat, my breath.
Your future is unknown and it is scary.
To be honest, I’m really lucky to be here today to talk to you.
Thanks to my family, my friends, and my doctors.
I understand that all experiences in life
offer us a chance to engage in a genuine way.
So one of my best friends suggested that
I see this time in the hospital as a kind of retreat.
And I liked that idea; it made it softer.
It made it easier to swallow.
So I began the first of six intense chemotherapy sessions
at the end of October 2020;
the last one finished on February 27th, 2021.
My hospital room held four patients;
each bed was partitioned off by sliding curtains.
There were no visitors because of Covid.
I did not have to go to work, my job was simple:
absorb the poisons to kill the cancer;
then rest and recuperate.
Everything else faded away.
The chemotherapy sessions, to be honest, were often exhausting.
I received medications by IV over several days.
Then I fell into a ghostlike state.
I was very, very weak. I felt insubstantial.
There was no next thing tugging at me.
There were no distractions. No need to do anything.
Nothing to plan and nowhere to go.
So I just kind of settled into this state of being.
And as a result, I became somewhat still.
I was no longer thinking about this or that;
and my mind became a bit more spacious.
And actually, actually, I felt more relaxed
and receptive to whatever my eyes landed on in my room.
So this situation, these limited surroundings,
my ghostlike state,
and my training in Miksang photography only deepened this experience.
So what is Miksang photography?
Over a decade ago,
I encountered this photograph of an ordinary cup of coffee.
It stopped me cold. It radiated clarity and peace.
This image shown here is by Michael Wood,
a founder and developer of Miksang.
Miksang means “good eye” in the Tibetan language.
This is not “good” in the sense of “good or bad.”
Rather, it describes an eye
that sees clearly, directly and simply, as in Michael’s photo.
Around 1980, Michael started doing meditation,
and then he encountered the writings on perception
by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche.
And this led him to develop a distinct approach to seeing
and together with his partner, Julie DuBose, they established
the Miksang Institute for Contemplative Photography in 2009.
Miksang aims to see the world as it is.
We use the term “direct perception.”
This is different from ordinary seeing,
which we usually use to navigate through the world.
Our mind mostly shades how we see.
We lock things into categories.
‘This is a stool.’
Or judge them based on what we like or have learned
or what we’re told is good.
Rather than
sometimes
we, rather than seeing we impose an idea on what we see.
But the world is as it is.
It’s already perfect.
Direct perception is slow
because it is in the moment.
We merely pay close attention to what is in front of us.
We see; we do not think.
You cannot see and think at the same time.
It’s that simple.
Concepts, labels, evaluations and habits all get in the way.
Instead, we meet the world head on.
This results in images that are fresh, they feel genuine.
We touch the wonder that surrounds us in daily life.
So there are many exercises to develop direct perception.
I’ve been studying it about 12 years now.
So I always carry this small camera with me in case I see something.
So it was only natural for me to bring it with me to the hospital.
Back in the hospital, I began to slowly
explore my visual environment,
including the curtain that surrounded my bed.
And I thought, ‘Geez, this is pretty cool!’
It was vivid and vast, like the surface of a planet in a NASA photograph.
The fabric of the curtain appeared to be a kind of pale salmon pink,
but I came to see that it was never one color.
Its appearance always shifted
with the light that came in through the window.
It changed with the weather, the time of day, the room lights.
And this produced
all sorts of wonderful variations in shadows, textures, tones and colors.
Whenever a nurse came in to take more of my blood or give me a new IV,
new spacing in the folds of the curtains was created.
When backlit,
shadows glowed in burnt oranges or rust browns.
Like everything in the world,
the curtains existed from each moment to the next.
And I finally understood what so engaged the Impressionists
who took their easels outside to sketch their first impression of a scene.
That is direct experience.
And, you know, Monet painted façade of the Rouen Cathedral
over 30 times,
fascinated by its shifting appearance at different hours of the day.
One time,I gazed at the same small section of curtain;
I opened my eyes for five seconds
and then,
close them for five seconds
or longer, allowing time for any after image
or thoughts to dissolve, to quiet my mind.
And then I open my eyes again for five seconds;
close them again for five seconds.
Open them again for five seconds.
And I continue doing this for about 20 minutes.
And what happened
was gradually the curtain grew and grew
and grew in real presence
until it filled my entire awareness.
It was something far beyond what we label as curtain.
I was really seeing it.
When seeing, I sometimes experienced what I call a “rush.”
And that is this sudden and overwhelming love for this world.
A deep and joyful sense of connection.
That’s why I photograph.
This experience is best expressed by the Zen priest and photographer,
the late Zen priest and photographer John Daido Loori.
He said:
“Seeing is perception with the original unconditioned eye.
It is a state of consciousness
in which separation of photographer / subject,
audience / image dissolves;
in which a reality beyond words and concepts opens up ... ”
“It is a state of consciousness in which
a reality beyond words and concepts opens up.”
So somehow this weird situation
enabled me to let go of expectations,
give up my striving, relax the chatter in my mind and turn my awareness out.
The chemo, the hospital, the cancer.
What many would regard with anxiety actually became a deep ground,
a rich ground for deepening my ability to see.
And I realized something very important. I realized something very important.
When we stop trying to manage our experience and let go,
the world comes to us in all its richness.
A few more images.
We do not see because we move too fast. We skim through the world.
We are impulsive. We want to grab something.
We want to press the shutter too quickly.
We’re ambitious
and we are distracted by a million things,
especially the continuous dialogue in our heads.
‘Is this good enough?’ ‘If only it had better light.’
‘If only I could take an image like I saw on Facebook last night.’
And we miss so much around us.
Instead we can move into a zone of non-seeking.
We are open.
We are still. We are alert.
And we are dissolving the overlays that we place on the world.
We become more and more receptive.
And then we start to see.
And suddenly, out of the blue,
the most amazing and beautiful perception will drop into your lap.
It might be in your kitchen, on a mountaintop
or even from a hospital bed.
It is pure. It is unconditional.
It is a gift from the universe.
We don’t judge what we see or try to make it better.
We accept it.
We really lean into it and appreciate it.
And then
if we want,
we can express it as a photograph
to share this joyful experience with others.
Then we are connecting to the world with our heart.
You don't have to be a professional photographer to do this.
Direct perception is available to everyone.
It really is possible to see the world with fresh eyes.
As we broaden our awareness more and more,
we begin to cultivate a non-aggressive and joyful stance towards our world.
Reality is so brilliant, so boundless.
So, what will you see today?
Thank you.
[Applause]