The Listening Attention

Tag: Richard Rose

  • The Trap of Projection

    “The mind has the ability to create, better than the ability to accurately witness. With the ability to create comes the ability to delude the self.” – Richard Rose

    I remember my first real encounter with the trap of projection, when I was a struggling alcoholic trying desperately to become sane and sober. I had spent months believing that my problems were based in others only, and if they would just leave me alone, I would be just fine. I also bought into the projection of place being a cause, in that I thought if I could move to another town, I would be free of the restraints of my negative state of mind. The saying, “Wherever you go, there you are”, hit like a ton of bricks when I changed towns, jobs, and friends several times and things went from bad to worse. It slowly became apparent that the problem was in me, not outside in place or person. The projecting of our problems on the environment and others, thinking that if you could just be away from your current environment and associates, things would be better, is just projecting the blame away from our infallible, self-righteous ego. I was not facing the fact that our being creates our life, and to change our life, we must change.

    We can also project positive, but likewise unconscious, aspects of ourselves onto others. This can be seen first as an admiration or jealousy of a facet in the other person. Later, we may come to see the same attribute in ourselves, and realize that something inside was simply trying to draw our attention to it. I can remember having a vivid first impression of someone as being ‘capable’. Later, after working with them for several months, I came to see that this was something I admired about them, and wished for myself, but my ego, again, couldn’t imagine it as possible. It went against the current belief-system. I needed to see it in action in the other person before I would accept it as something possible for me. The experience of it in the other led to it’s manifesting in myself, after I had come to see it was not an impossible, or even impractical, thing for a normal human to have.

    The same thing happened when I first met a spiritual teacher, and felt his inner strength. I at first believed this to be something only he could possibly possess. Years later, I came to see the same inner light in several of my fellow seekers as well as myself. It had been something I wouldn’t have accepted, therefore unconsciously refused to cultivate, and had to be seen first in another before it could become manifest in me.

    This trap of projection is mainly one of thinking, rather than observing. The thoughts we believe, whether our own or those perhaps projected into our heads from sources that may or may not have our best interests in mind, we take to be valid and ‘us’. By learning to observe our thoughts rather than mechanically react on them only, can lead to a new level of being, one in which everything is possible, even our own becoming.

    Bob Fergeson

  • Notes on the Journey Within

    Tolstoy said there are two fundamental stories in all great literature: “a man goes on a journey” or “a stranger comes to town.” When you examine them, both are really about change. They show that our comfortable routine—sitting safely in the village, wrapped in familiar habits, everything staying the same—is about to be disrupted in a major way.

    We have a choice in how we meet that change. It is far better to embark on the hero’s journey deliberately, with eyes wide open and a “yes” attitude—a positive, receptive state of mind—than to passively wait for the stranger to arrive. If you wait, you may learn nothing; worse, the story could turn dark. The stranger might be a dragon or a demon. It is preferable to confront such a force in the wilderness than to let it ravage half the village first. If we wait, the stranger eventually will come, and shatter the pattern. Real change—and real damage—will certainly follow. It is a risky chance.

    For the journey to be a true hero’s adventure rather than just more routine, certain conditions are essential. As Huxley observed, “experience only teaches the teachable.” If the hero sets out only to criticize and take offense at everything unfamiliar—judging new events against the narrow habits and thinking of his old life—little good will come of it. He will grow miserable, assign blame, and keep his small self firmly at the center. Nothing can truly change. But if he meets experience with an open-eyed, clear attitude, wonder becomes possible—wonder in the sense of questioning, and also in the sense of amazement and mystery. With this inner posture, he may begin to see the mysterious patterns that constitute him, reflected back in the events he encounters. He may come to know something real about himself.

    Courage, self-honesty, and being tested in different environments help keep the eyes wide open so he does not simply drag his old baggage along. The journey then proceeds with an open state of mind—what we might call “Yes” instead of “No.”

    For most of us, the journey begins by leaving the nest and stepping into life. Change often arrives first in seemingly ordinary things. Being open-minded—not merely in a polite, social sense—means being capable of truly seeing and listening rather than reflexively judging. This is not just a slogan; it is a practice. When we look to observe what is actually happening, non-critically and non-judgmentally, then marriage, raising children, building a home, starting a family, launching a business, pursuing a career, developing a talent or skill—any of these can become the journey, the path. We keep an open mind and refuse to force our life into something that only chases money or to adopt the bitter attitude that everything always goes wrong, that the world is against us, and that only we are right.

    If we can reclaim our innocence, we become capable of something different. We can develop real skill, a direct way of engaging the world. We can become a parent, a husband, a wife, a father, a mother, a leader, a reliable colleague—identities profoundly different from who we were as teenagers or toddlers. For those who complete this phase and later feel a nostalgic pull, a remembering of something greater than ordinary life can offer, the journey can turn inward. It becomes an exploration of what we are truly like and whether something real lies beneath the surface.

    This inward turn must also be undertaken with a sense of mystery, wonder, and eyes wide open. Otherwise, we risk simply rationalizing and blaming what we find inside. But if we observe inwardly in a universal, neutral way—true, non-judgmental observation—then we can learn from it and gradually free ourselves from the emotional hot spots and knots accumulated over a lifetime. This, too, is the hero’s journey: an adventure of stalking oneself, of coming to know oneself.

    Richard Rose pointed out that we must get to know the self precisely because it is the thing we know least about. Most of us assume we already know ourselves, but honest, non-critical self-inquiry often brings real surprises. It can be deeply depressing and profoundly enlightening at the same time. Yet it remains an adventure as long as we maintain the eyes-wide-open, non-judgmental attitude. Beating ourselves up, blaming parents, society, or some other group so we can feel right—these are not productive. Pure observation is what matters.

    This non-judgmental approach works equally for the outward journey and the inward one.

    Once we understand how “going within” operates, nostalgia—or what Rumi calls “a longing”—becomes our guide. This longing is not sentimental. It has nothing to do with sitting on the porch of the old farm, drinking lemonade, and drifting into fond childhood memories. We are seeking an entirely different set of guideposts, a different environment, a different version of ourselves—one we only vaguely remember. We carry faint memories of heaven, and if we follow this thread of longing, it can lead somewhere Real.

    Richard Rose also discovered through his dreams that life is dominated by three main moods. The two primary ones are opposites: seduction and fear (or desire and fear). Desire pulls us outward toward things; fear drives us back toward security. Neither leads the soul inward or upward beyond this dimension—they simply make us chase or flee. But nostalgia—the remembering of who we were before we came here—is different. It is the thread that can guide us Home, toward something eternal.

    Bob Fergeson