“Thank you for your candor in sharing your experiences of hardship over this most recent phase in your life. I wonder if you can share what lessons you have learned from it, if any?”
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If I have been frank in sharing my experiences it is only because I am exhausted and have no energy left to maintain a pretense. My willingness to be vulnerable doesn’t come from having achieved some higher state of consciousness but rather from a compulsion. I am naked to you not because I want to be but because I have no clothes within reach by which to recover my dignity.
I do not enjoy being this frank. It feels uncomfortable. That others are not pointing and laughing (perhaps some are, I just don’t know it) is more a testament to how compassionate and accommodating my readers are. Not only does this Emperor have no clothes but it is plain to see that he is no ‘emperor’ either. Just another common fool trying to fumble his way through life.
You ask what I have learned in this process. I have learned much.
I’ve learned that fate is both a generous lover and a ruthless bitch. And I must learn to love that bitch unconditionally if I am to ever live in union with her. The more I struggle against her, the more I suffer. It’s that simple. I cannot dominate her. I cannot make her submit to my will. She is a free bird. This is her journey. I am simply along for the ride.
I’ve learned that I simply cannot trust my mind. My mind is like a dog. It lives on a leash. It only has the power to operate within the rein it is given. I cannot blame it either. It is like a mindless creature operating on pure conditioning and habit. It is driven by fear, hope, despair, excitement, dread, fantasy, validation, punishment and many other things. It is predictable. It is intelligent only in a very limited sense. To be led by the mind is like being led by a dog on a leash. The experience of life feels reactive and like being yanked from experience to experience – up, down, round and round.
I’ve learned that being exists as the imperturbable center of experience. Not just my experience, but the experience of the world and everything that exists. It is the one constant in everything but it lacks flavor, taste, feeling, color, texture. It is absolutely empty of any sensory, emotional or intellectual content. It is the enemy of my mind because the mind needs fodder – in any form, whether that be a pleasurable sensation (or even a terrible one), an uplifting emotion (or even a depressing one), an ingenious thought (or even a devious one) – the mind needs something to chew on. Being is void of anything substantive – materially, psychologically and intellectually and thus feels like starvation to the mind.
I’ve learned that “I” am neither being nor mind but can assume the essence of either. I am simply AWARENESS, a placeholder – an identifier which when affiliated with something becomes that very thing. In a moment of anger, I become that anger. In a moment of freedom, I become that freedom. In a moment of hope, I become the hope. In a moment of despair, I become the despair. I am shockingly ambivalent about what I experience. The only reason I seem to suffer is because the mind suffers and I affiliate with it and assume the form of that suffering. I do not actually suffer. I only become suffering.
Similarly, when I am aware of mind, I become the mind. And when I am aware of being, I become being. I am a homeless vagabond with no permanent resting place. I am a nomadic creature that is perpetually shapeshifting. When in the sanctuary of being, I feel like that deep reservoir of peace is my true nature and I am finally home. Yet, in the next moment when I enter the prison of the mind, I become the tumult of confusion and emotions and I realize that this is also my home.
Here, I am reminded of Nisargadatta’s famous book titled “I am That”. And I realize for the first time, that the key word in the title that makes the sentence valid is the word “that”. For the “I am” cannot exist without a “that” to attach itself to. Even if the “that” is being itself. And when Nisargadatta used the word “that”, I realize he was pointing to exactly what I am pointing to now. “That” means “what is” – including any form, emotion, thought, sensation, even being or the experience of emptiness (There’s a bit of nondual fuckery for you). There is no such experience as a pure and unaffiliated “I am”. Perhaps, in deep sleep (but how the fuck would I know).
I’ve learned that I don’t have the power to choose being over mind, peace over conflict, balance over imbalance, love over hatred. Awareness is like a magnet which orients in the direction of the most powerful field that is pulling it in the moment. If that field comes from some strong emotion, then that’s where it goes. If it comes from some captivating thought or memory, then that’s where it goes. If it comes from some strong sensation of pain in the body, then that’s where it goes. If it comes from a deep resonating field of being, then that’s where it goes. And if we string each of these moments together, we create a sense of ‘I’-dentity and a story. Just like a bunch of beads is just a bunch of beads until a single thread makes them a necklace.
I’ve learned that the idea that I have the power to ‘direct my attention’ is an illusion. It just so happens that there are some conditioned habits in place that generate their own magnetic fields and can often override competing fields vying for attention at the same time – thereby producing the effect of consistent behavior and control. But I now see that they are only programs. Mindfulness, meditation – these are also programs to create an effect in which awareness begins skewing more towards being instead of thinking. But is there freedom in battling one bias with another? At best one can achieve a tenuous balance. A ceasefire between competing forces. If some people are more consistent and reliable than others that is only because they have more consistent and reliable programs running their operating systems.
I’ve learned that I can experience the deep peace of being in one minute and then, in the very next moment, feel that horrifying feeling of my organism’s survival instinct kicking in. This has been particularly poignant of late as my financial challenges continue piling up. I can literally be sipping a cup of coffee and feeling a profound sense of wellbeing and in the next minute panic at the realization that all my credit cards are maxed, and I may not be able to pay the next month’s mortgage.
I’ve learned to have compassion for my ego. It is nothing but the mind trying to do its job and keep the organism safe. The mind is a limited creature and expecting the old dog to come up with new tricks is an unfair expectation to maintain. Its strategies change like the wind depending upon what the emotional weather looks like. When I am at peace and in the flow, it foolishly thinks the threat has been averted and it starts building impractical and grandiose plans for the future. When I am freaking out about my circumstances, it panics and starts coming up with knee jerk disaster recovery plans that often make no sense. It is out of its depth. The mind is an excellent manager and a horrendous leader. It does not know how to lead and, if thrust into that position, in its desperation to live up to expectations will simply become a tyrant.
I’ve learned that the highest aspiration I can have is to live an ordinary life. And I do not define what ‘ordinary’ means. To one it might mean having a million dollars in the bank. To another it may mean having ten. Ordinary simply means ‘that which does not consume unnecessary attention’. Ordinary simply means that awareness is not being held hostage – whether by an uplifting state or a depressive one.
I remember reading Camus in my college days (at a time when I was deeply immersed in European existentialist philosophy) and being fascinated by many of his writings including The Stranger, The Plague and The Fall – but the one that always stood out most to me (primarily because of its simplicity and brevity) was The Myth of Sisyphus.
Many of you are probably familiar with it as I have referenced it before, and I know some other writers like Robert Saltzman have as well. I will quickly summarize the original Greek myth here (and not Camus’ interpretation) for those who are unfamiliar with it. Sisyphus was an ancient king who offended the gods due to his arrogance, cruelty and for cheating death twice. To punish him for his hubris in believing that he was cleverer than Zeus himself (for Sisyphus had cheated death once by tricking Zeus), Hades the god of the underworld condemned Sisyphus to a task of pushing a boulder up a mountain. However, unbeknownst to Sisyphus, the boulder had been enchanted so that as it approached the very top, it would roll right back down to the bottom. Thus, he had been sentenced to an eternity of futile action.
Many writers have commented on the courage and heroism of Sisyphus to bear his impossible burden. But to me, there is no question of courage or heroism. Sisyphus has no choice. He is forced to push that boulder up that mountain whether he wants to or not. And he is forced to watch the rock roll back down. He cannot choose to stop. He cannot choose to speed it up. He is being willed into action despite himself. He is helpless to his own fate.
I’ve learned that my awareness, like Sisyphus, moves perpetually from the top to the bottom of the mountain and back. The higher it goes – the clearer and more peaceful the air becomes – the more it feels like I am arriving at the end of a long and arduous journey. And then, just as I feel that heavy rock shifting into its final resting place, a powerful force pulls it back down into the depths of that base existence and I am dragged with it, incredulous at first, until it dawns on me that this has already happened infinite times before.
Can I learn to love my fate – that ruthless bitch who thrives on tantalizing me with her futilities and absurdities? Who lulls me into a false sense of peace and security only to yank the rug out from under my feet once again?
Yet, even in loving her I have no choice. For sometimes I do feel deep love for her. And sometimes she evokes only the deepest dread and revulsion.
And yet, the hope still lingers…
…and another cycle of futility is born.
"I’ve learned that the highest aspiration I can have is to live an ordinary life.... Ordinary simply means ‘that which does not consume unnecessary attention’. Ordinary simply means that awareness is not being held hostage – whether by an uplifting state or a depressive one."
Aldous Huxley wrote about the difference between animal natural grace and human conscious grace. Animals don't over complicate life and naturally align themselves to the Flow. Humans have to overthink everything and are constantly out of sync with life's rhythms. Like your dog metaphor, we are constantly yanked about by our mind tethers. It seems the more intelligent we become the more awkward and clumsy we behave.
It is rather ironic that living an ordinary life today is extraordinary. Well, I suppose if we created such a situation, we can perhaps imagine an alternative. We know what we need to do, but we're addicted to the chaos treats we have been distracting ourselves with. It might be time to befriend our inner wolf and get back to basics.
This is one of the best articles i've read lately.
Thank you very much, Shiv.