Digging A Ditch, Revisited

I wrote my first article about spiritual work entitled Digging A Ditch back in the late 90’s. It’s probably stored in a hard drive somewhere but, at this time, I am unable to locate it in order to directly quote it.

That article described one of my first tangible experiences of freedom that would profoundly impact my journey as a seeker of the truth.

I had already been a practitioner of Zen Buddhism for 6 years in a dojo in Paris, and had moved to Seattle in1994 only to find the path of the Fourth Way and Sufism upon my arrival. This path, as it turned out, would open doors I had been doggedly trying to open in my pursuit of freedom – but had not attained after 6 years of daily meditation and retreats three times a year.

My aim was strong, seemingly invincible, yet I understood very little about practicing presence out in everyday life. I mostly struggled with my own damn self on the cushion, contemplating Mu and trying to be still.

The Fourth Way offered a unique approach to learning what presence really was…nothing to achieve and everything to remember what is inherently there in the first place. We are all pure awareness, but must see beyond the veil of identification and attachment to access it.

I was given the task to “sense” my body as often as possible, for it is known that presence in the body interrupts incessant thought. It was not enough to simply focus on the body with my thinking for that would be…thinking. It was an expanded awareness of bodily sensation while doing menial tasks.

Practical work served this purpose at every retreat. For three hours a day, we would work together on a project that required some kind of physicality, like gardening, building, cooking, or cleaning. This was the opportunity to sense one’s body as a means to presence. The tasks purposefully did not require intense mental prowess, but mere attention to maintain the action. 

Since our minds do not need to tell our bodies how to pull a weed, we let the body use its own intelligence. It is possible then to maintain an awareness of body while simultaneously keeping track of how far apart nails should be hammered on a board or how wide and deep a trench should be.

This brings me to digging the ditch.

In the couple of years I had been doing the retreats, I found I did not look forward to this work. I loved the meditations; the sacred dances and playing the divinely mysterious music; the evening chants (zhikr) where everyone arrived fresh and clean to be together in the eminence of God; but digging a ditch…who needs it.

I obediently, yet reluctantly, picked up a shovel and took my place amongst 12 or so others in the forest. The earth smelled delightful and it wasn’t raining! I asked about the depth and width and, like a member of a chain gang, fell in line (only without the singing). It was laborious and I tried to curb my distaste for the whole thing by feeling the spade cut the dirt. ”Let the tool do the work. Relax your shoulders. Stay aware.”

Suddenly, after a mentally painful half-hour, the 9 o’clock stop was called.

This ‘stop’ was another highly effective practice done throughout the day. Either the teacher or the bell ringer/time keeper called out the top of the hour, and this was our time to immediately stop what we were doing, find sensation in our body, and bring awareness to our awareness.

On this particular day, the stops were being called every half-hour, hardly enough time to find a rhythm or sense of process before being rudely interrupted by the stop. This emphasized the need to stop achieving anything, or day dreaming, or God forbid, talking with your neighbor. The pause offered space to observe your present state and realize how not present you were since the last stop.

After a few stops, with much effort to return to the shovel, the rhythm, the sensation, and the pattern, the stillness also slipped in more and more frequently. Something shifted in my being. I was one with the earth, the sound, and the movement. 

The final stop for practical work was called, but I was already “stopped” on the inside. There was no thought, only flow. I knew then that all was possible.

Molly Knight Forde is the founder of the Awareness School and author of Be Present: Reflections On The Way.

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