Sleeping Awake

It was the Feast of the Holy Transfiguration in August, 2012. My oldest son, Nick, had just returned to America from seven months in Greece in a Greek Orthodox Monastery. He was on his way to be tonsured as a monk by a Russian Orthodox Bishop.

We were sitting out back as I smoked a pipe of fine tobacco in memory of my Grandfather. I said to Nick, “you know, I’m starting to experience consciousness in Cyberspace.” Indeed I was feeling a new intuitive connection to the twelve servers in my basement on a dedicated T1 line with 130 Class C IP numbers, dishing out content to over 100,000 users on a daily basis, as well as the numerous laptops, desktops, and mobile devices that comprised my home environment. Nick responded, “you know, I’m experiencing wakefulness in sleep.”

Brain cramp! WTF! It hurt my head to consider his idea. That night I woke up. This was not lucid dreaming but a sense of pure consciousness. Since that night I have remained awake, experiencing consciousness, a sense of “I am” even in deep sleep.

After awakening I remembered what I had learned from Maharishi Mahesh Yogi when I had the opportunity to study with him in 1973 in Southern Spain. Maharishi taught that as consciousness expands through meditation, we become increasingly awake until the sense of “I am-ness, “Pure Consciousness” permeates all experience.

I had first learned Transcendental Meditation (TM) in September, 1971. My TM Teacher, Eric Dahl, during the days following my “initiation” into TM instructed me that if I meditated faithfully for 8 years I would arrive in a state of Cosmic Consciousness, a state where I was always “aware.”

OK, Cosmic Consciousness sounds much more grandiose than what I am experiencing. I am simply subtly more aware. What was new in my behavior was that I found myself craving to live by three principles: to tell the truth, to respect those not present (no trash-talk) and to honor my commitments. Of course I fail at each of these, but less than I did before.

Following my initiation into TM and the followup 3 days of instruction, I did not see Eric again, until two years later, in Spain, as I was entering the tent to be initiated by Maharishi as a TM Teacher. Eric just smiled. It was three years later, in 1976, that I saw Eric again in Atlanta, Georgia in the Greek Orthodox Cathedral. He was in the Church alone, fully prostrate before the Iconostasis. I was there to obtain a Letter of Introduction to the Orthodox Monastic Republic of Mount Athos. Eric confirmed I was on the right path.

During my time with Maharishi, I was so impressed with his teachings and his energy that I went to him at the end of my training and said “I want to be your disciple.” This, in spite of my plan to become an Episcopal Priest as my Father. I was 18 years old. Maharishi laughed and said, “for you to be my disciple you would spend your life trying to become a Hindu. You are a Christian, look into your own Tradition and you will find what you are seeking.”

On my return home, I continued my college education, taught TM, eventually teaching over 1,000 people (getting paid for it), and exploring Anglican and Roman Catholic Monasteries in America and Europe in search of “what I was seeking.” In each monastery I visited I had two questions: what was the quality of life for the old monks, and what was the source of truth?

In almost every case, with a few exceptions, the old monks were disgruntled old men, some even advising me not to pursue a monastic career. In every case, the source of truth was the same, the Teachings of the Fathers which came in books. It was dead truth, not what I was seeking.

Then, one morning in September of 1976, I was alone in the home of my parents in Chattanooga, Tennessee doing my morning meditation before a day of classes at the local university when out of the blue I heard a strong voice call my name, “Hal.” I responded but there was no answer. I continued meditating and again I heard my named called, “Hal.” This time I was a bit spooked and grabbed a heavy brass cross from my dresser as a weapon and searched the house. I found no one and returned to my meditation. Again I heard my name called, “Hal.” This time I attributed the anomaly to some “un-stressing,” I finished my meditation and went to class.

First up was Ancient History where we were studying the Persian Wars. The professor told the story of Xerxes sending 300 ships with 20,000 men to invade Greece where his fleet was lost in a storm, off the cliffs of Mount Athos in 492 BCE. The professor pulled down a map to show us the location and mentioned that today Athos was the home of an ancient Monastic Republic, recognized by the League of Nations following World War I. This was the first time I heard of Mount Athos.

My second class was Classical Greek where we were beginning to translate Aristotle. The professor pulled down the map to show us the birthplace of Aristotle which happened to be at the isthmus of the Athos peninsula. He also mentioned the existing Athonite Monastic Republic where women were not allowed.

In those days it was my custom to attend noon Mass at an Episcopal Church on the edge of campus. The Priest, Father Christopher Morley, and I were often the only ones in attendance as it was this day. Father Morley was the son of the New York author Christopher Morley and he spent his childhood in the company of T.S. Elliot and Aldous Huxley. Father Morley was educated at Oxford University and served in World War II for British Forces as an ambulance driver, not carrying a weapon, pulling the wounded from the battlefields of France. He became a celibate Anglican Priest of great focus and piety somehow ending up in Chattanooga, Tennessee as the Priest of Christ Church.

At the end of the Mass, uncharacteristically, Father Morley paused as he was exiting and said, “you know, I was thinking of you last night as I was reading about the monks of Mount Athos, have you considered going there?” Bingo, I suddenly remembered that three times my name was called that morning and now three times I heard of Mount Athos. I finished the semester and in January 1977 I made my way to the “Holy Mountain,” Mount Athos.