The Curtain Opens
El telón se abre
A student asks for direct guidance into empty knowing, and the teacher uses the student's own habit of "going into thought" as the doorway to recognizing what is already here.
The Curtain Opens
A student asks for direct guidance into empty knowing, and the teacher uses the student's own habit of "going into thought" as the doorway to recognizing what is already here.
I was listening earlier today to you talking about empty looking, and every time I would hear it mentioned, I would just think, "I'm going to look at air, thanks." I feel the defiance in that. But today it just hit the spot. I don't want to get into experience and thinking and analyzing and understanding. I just want it straight.
Anything that this is, anything that is known, is known by something. And then I ask you: what is it known by? What knows it is empty, because anything that is something is known.
So what would you say to me, or to anybody else? Maybe you just did that; I don't know. But I see I'm going into thought now. I want to go right back to it. Maybe it's just up to me to keep going back to it, no matter what I'm hearing, what's happening, what I'm thinking, like what we were doing during the meditation. Maybe the sensation, the hearing, the thinking, and then coming back is that.
The value of honesty
The conversation matters. When you tell me you go back into thought, that's important. That transparency is important because it peels away all kinds of interest we have in "getting it." There is an honesty in that which shows the love for truth. If you say, "I got it, I get it," maybe you don't know that it's just a thought getting, which is not bad. But if you say, "Well, I go into thought," now we're talking.
That which has that curiosity, that which wants to know, has a certain love. And that which has this love is here. It is now. It knows, it sees, it hears, it senses. It sees in all ways. And it is empty.
Tell me more about the emptiness.
Everything known is not empty; what knows is empty
Everything that you could say is known. Everything that is not empty is known. Every thought, every sensation, every sound, every perception is what is not empty, and that is known. That which knows it is, by definition, empty.
So rationally, intellectually, it's perfect. Then you follow the logic to your experience, and you will find that that which knows is empty, that which sees is empty, because only what is not empty is that which is known and seen.
It can also be realized that everything that is known and seen is also empty. But that's a second step.
The first step I can warm up to.
It's as simple as understanding if we create two categories. One category is the forms that are experienced: sensation, sound, sight, smell, thought. All thoughts, meaning all memories, all images, all concepts, all imagined sounds. Let's call that the non-empty stuff. That which knows it, the knowing of it, is by definition empty.
What you're saying is clear. But it goes up here, into the head. What is so great is how you talk about "that which is empty," and somehow everything just evaporates. There are so many different ways to talk about it. "That which knows," "that which sees." I can just go there. I don't even know if I'm there, but it feels like I'm not as much "there." And that's what I'm going for.
Recognizing the sticky spot
When you say "I go here," what is it that recognizes that?
It feels like it's the smart one, the clever one. It doesn't feel like it's the emptiness. Maybe in this moment that's my answer, but maybe in other moments it's empty.
One is saying, "I know it, I get it." Another is saying, "I go here. I have the thought or the belief that I get it, but I can tell it's a thought."
When you started to describe it as "the one that is curious, the one that loves truth," it was like, wow. It doesn't allow me to stay up there. It doesn't allow me to think, analyze, or figure it out.
I was describing the sticky spots. Those are almost always going to be a mix of sensations in the body and the world of thought. What you're describing is the sticky spot, but you're aware of it. The practice is to keep noticing that sticky spot. What is it that knows? What is it that's aware of the focus on thought?
You could call that yourself. But if you keep seeing that, if you keep seeing that, then that which you call yourself knowing this starts to become more mysterious. It's a self with less form.
The image of self goes into the background.
You start to see the image, see the image, see the image. Show me the self. Show me the self. Show me the self. And you can tell: it's now, it's here now. It's not some hidden thing.
It's like all of a sudden the curtain opened. Exposure.
It's right here. You can pretend it's this crazy hidden secret.
The house of cards
Even this self falls like a domino with the persistence. That sense of "I keep trying," all that story, "what's the point?" But then it's gone. It's like paper.
That "trying" and "it's so hard" and "it's impossible" is the self's interest in it being impossible. There's an attraction to those thoughts. We are attached to the notion of this being a difficult thing.
There's the story of a me, and then there's a story of the story of a me. It's just fantastic.
"It's hard to see. It's so difficult. It's so hidden. So much struggle." That's the whole house of cards.