Church

In my plan I mentioned that once a week I drive to Ubud for what I called church. Let me explain what I mean by that word, because I don’t mean the building.

By church I mean this: being among a decent number of people who are in a good state, doing something pleasant together. In Ubud terms you’d call it high vibrations. Use whatever word doesn’t irritate you; the phenomenon is real whatever we call it.

Here’s why it matters. In ordinary life the ambient state of the spaces we move through — the office, public transport, most crowds — runs negative more often than not. And it is my deep conviction that my vibrational background, both the typical one and the one in this moment, determines practically the whole of my reality. It determines what I see: more of the good or more of the bad. It determines what I feel about what I see. It determines whether I’m ready to act at all, and which action I reach for. Practically everything.

So a central part of my practice — spiritual practice, but really just the practice of living — is maintaining a good state. And the simplest way to do that, the one that costs no effort at all, is to immerse yourself in a company of people who are in that state right now. The state is contagious. You don’t have to do anything; you just have to be there.

I think this is a large part of why people go to church — perhaps without fully knowing it themselves. The sermon is not the point. The point is a room full of people tuned, for an hour, above their weekday frequency.

I’ll be honest: I don’t like church itself. If church lifts you — good; that means its vibration is above where you currently are. For me it sits below my level, and it pulls me down, not up. This isn’t a judgment about church. It’s a measurement, and everyone has to take their own.

Where my state genuinely rises is at things like kirtan and ecstatic dance. And not just any of them — this turns out to matter. For ecstatic dance there is exactly one that works on me: the Sunday afternoon dance at the Yoga Barn. I walk out of it as if I’ve taken a shower in high vibrations.

Kirtan I started at Sayuri Healing Food, a little café in Ubud. For me there is only one leader: Jeremy Sol. Later he moved his kirtans to Zest — a landmark, and maybe the most stylish spot in Ubud. The way he leads, the way the whole thing is put together — it’s simply first class. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere in the world. That room, on that night, is the best place I know to raise my state.

Once a week, minimum. That’s the discipline. Not because someone prescribed it, but because I’ve measured what a week without church does to the background — and what a week with it does.