Confessions of a Spiritual Couch Potato: Part III

by Timothy Thompson

Continued from Confessions of a Spiritual Couch Potato – Part II:

With slight raspberry overtones, this deliciously simple book never fails to leave me with whispers of its sweet after note. It was the perfect complement to the first four courses. I read a few of my favorite passages and settled down for a long overdue session with myself that required only my complete presence and a willingness to sit in silence . . .

Coming out the silence of the fifth course, I gradually became aware, first of my breathing, then my body, and finally the world around me. Soon enough, my head was filled with the usual chitchat that I often likened to a tree full of monkeys arguing with the parrots next door. I caught myself thinking random thoughts about TV, snacks, and my favorite beer. Amazing how the conditioned mind clings to potatohood. I realized that one seven-course mind meal would not be enough. It would take me many more sessions to break the burlap bag of my spudly bonds. The fifth course was a good start, however, and I was deeply appreciative for all the grand new tastes and sensations involved in this spiritual meal.

Stifling an impulse to follow my belly into the kitchen, I got up, stretched a little, took care of a few bodily functions, and began to think about course six. This course would be the meat and potatoes, so to speak, of my transformation from couch potato to . . . what, exactly? I suppose I had not given it much thought up to this point. What exactly did I want to be other than a couch potato?

The answer came to me in a sudden rush of inspiration. I was excited. Of course the next-to-last course would be something special, but then again, weren't they all? I could not honestly pick out which course of the previous five was my favorite.

• Was it the slightly irreverent, light humor for the appetizer? A gustatory gem to be sure, it set the tone and shifted my awareness from uninvolved and unconscious seriousness about being a couch potato to the a more humorous and friendly way of looking at things.
• Was it the scientific gazpacho of belief? In this special blending of flavors, I came to realize that my awareness of myself as a couch potato came from subconscious programming and that I had the innate capacity to shift that consciously, and to even acknowledge that shift in my own biology.
• Was it the caloric salad of definitions and measured results? The confusion between the definitions of the term calorie as a single unit and a thousand units only emphasized the trap of language in trying to define things in the physical world. Language is often imprecise. Science alone cannot shift consciousness. The crunchiness of this course delighted me, but as with all such salads, rapidly proved to be too insubstantial to provide lasting benefit.
• Was it the cleansing sorbet of exercise? Delightful, to be sure. Nothing gets the starch out of sedentary couch potatoes like stretching your roots and shaking your leaves a bit.
• Was it the winged delight of meditation? The fifth course allowed me to reconnect and renew in a very deep, body-mind-spirit way. It's hard to put into words, but it proved to be one of those all-too-rare experiences that signal a fundamental shift and a deep appreciation for things just as they are.
• Will it be the taste bud titillations of the sixth course? I would soon find out if the sixth becomes my favorite of the entire spiritual meal.

The world would be my sixth course. It is a world of movement and stillness, beauty and plainness, songs of joy and tears of pain, exquisite connections and unbearable loneliness. The sixth course, the meat and potatoes of the whole grand meal, needed to be a rediscovery of all my senses wrapped up into one whale of an experience. I needed to taste, touch, see, hear, and smell the world itself for this course.

It had just rained, leaving everything fresh and bright this crisp afternoon. The light was amazing and golden as it streamed down from the source of all life on this planet. Clouds and trees seemed to wrap themselves around this light as if drinking from an immense well of sustenance. Birds twittered their happiness in a canopy of leaves that steamed their moisture into the atmosphere to join the clouds. Somewhere dogs barked and cars sped. The dusty grime had settled leaving everything smelling fresh and fragrant. The air was warm and still against my skin and I could nearly taste its fullness with my tongue.

I walked, deeply grateful, in a world that enveloped my senses with a completeness that I had not often allowed myself to savor. I walked in appreciation and quiet joy. I walked with my body, mind, and spirit and only the present moment existed in all its innate goodness. I walked because I chose to.

After the previous course ended, all too soon for my taste, my body relaxed, my mind alert, my brain humming with serotonins and endorphins, I realized that each one of us engages the world where we are in that moment. And it is in that engagement that we connect to ourselves and to all other things. The world is naturally what it is, and our consciousness colors our perceptions of the world according to our beliefs and experiences. Why not make of it a deliciously grand meal that naturally sustains our being rather than a tiresome little fast food quickie wrapped in paper and smothered with chemicals? Is it really so hard to do? I think not, but know that I would have to nurture this new-found connection to the world consciously and practice it until it becomes second nature. I could feel my couch potatohood begin to recede into the background already.

The seventh course proved to be quite delicious, a sumptuously rich concoction of relationships all wrapped in a swirl of sweet fulfillment. My dessert would be this sweet and more. After my walk, I entered home to find my loved ones there as well. Everyone was relaxing after a day in the outside world. Everyone was healthy, safe, and loved. All were delighted that I had taken a walk, and some even remarked that I somehow seemed different . . . but in a good way! Even the old cat, often a cantankerous and complaining beast, purred as she looked up with her silent question: Something to eat?

Smiling, I began to tell them about my wonderful seven course meal that had so nourished and satisfied me. I couldn't wait to whip up some tasty dishes for them to experience as well. I wondered if I could feed the neighborhood this way as well. And why stop at the neighborhood? Why not feed the world?

This ends the final installment of Confessions of a Spiritual Couch Potato.

Originally published online for Dream Manifesto in 2009.