The Relief That Can't Be Repeated
El alivio que no puede repetirse
A student describes spontaneous glimpses of clarity and intimacy, and asks how to return to them. The teacher explores why the desire to recapture a glimpse misunderstands what was actually seen, and how the freedom revealed in such moments is always already here.
The Relief That Can't Be Repeated
A student describes spontaneous glimpses of clarity and intimacy, and asks how to return to them. The teacher explores why the desire to recapture a glimpse misunderstands what was actually seen, and how the freedom revealed in such moments is always already here.
I've had a few glimpses in the past few months. They happen spontaneously. It's like I look up and something is different somehow, but at the same time, I see that everything is the same, that it's ordinary, that nothing has really changed. It's subtle. There's this sense of everything happening on its own, and there was a bit of a "wow" with that, even though it was ordinary as well.
Because it did feel different. It just felt a bit clearer that things were happening, and there was more of an intimacy with things. It felt different from when there's more identification, though it's hard to pinpoint. But the part my mind fixates on is: "That was a glimpse. How do I get back to that?"
I understand why the thoughts want to go there. The way I've been coaching myself is to question whether something is really different. If I look directly, I can't actually pinpoint the distinction between "that was a glimpse" and "this isn't one." But sometimes it still feels that way. I loop on it because it did feel different, like nothing was in the way. And then there's also this quality of grace to it, and how do you make grace happen? You can't. It just happened.
The question of what was glimpsed
You could also conceive of grace as being your choice.
What matters with glimpses is complex, but the simple aspect is: what was glimpsed? Contemplate what was seen in that glimpse, because the sense of wanting to go back almost always comes from misunderstanding what happened or what was seen.
The glimpse itself has a power of its own. It has a life of its own. There's an aspect where there's not much to do. But the glimpse is going to be interpreted, and the correct interpretation is important. A lot of times we do have a true glimpse, a true realization, and then the interpretation of what it was isn't accurate. That just creates trouble.
Interpretation is always a learning. It's not set in stone. It's a revisiting of what was seen, because it can also be seen over and over again.
The Santa Claus metaphor
For example, take the metaphor of believing in Santa Claus. Say you see your parents hiding the gifts. That's evidence that Santa Claus maybe isn't real, but it's not fully obvious, and the interpretation might not quite land on "Santa Claus isn't real." Over time, what happens is that the interpretation becomes more and more accurate, until you fully see that Santa Claus is not real. And once that happens, there isn't much novelty in Santa Claus not being real. There isn't a "going back" to the knowing that Santa Claus is not real.
But up until that point, there are these interpretations of something around Santa Claus maybe not being real, and they feel good. So we want to go back to that feeling-good part. The feeling good is actually a deeper and deeper understanding that Santa Claus is not real, a deeper and deeper letting go of the belief.
If you look at it through that metaphor, the feeling good that comes with getting closer and closer to that can't happen permanently. You can't keep going back to the seeing. Once I don't believe Santa Claus is real, I can't go back to believing it's real in order to see that it's not real, in order to feel the relief. That's what I'm addressing: that sense of wanting to go back to something.
But once you see that Santa Claus isn't real, you don't need to go back anymore. I may be looping on the same question, but it does seem different, because then Santa Claus is out of the way and there's this intimacy with everything that was always there, and that does feel good.
That's what you're wanting to get back to, right?
It's tricky to talk about because it wasn't exactly like fireworks. It was ordinary. But it did feel like a dropping of a sense of responsibility, or needing to manage. That did feel like a relief.
You can only drop what you pick up again
Exactly. But once you drop that, the only way to drop it again is to pick it up again. So that relief can't happen over and over. It can, but then it becomes troubling, because it turns into an addiction: believing in a separate self in order to see that it's not there, feeling the relief, then believing it again. There isn't much point to that. And I don't think we can actually sustain that kind of cycle.
But that's not where you're at. My sense is that the relief is going to remain as a memory of an experience. And the intimacy you're describing: more and more you'll see that it's always this. Whenever you have a memory of that experience where there was that change, recognize what was seen there that is true now. You can find it right here.
I can see that. There isn't any real distinction unless identification comes in somehow, or that wanting to manage or control. And then I see your point, or my interpretation of your pointing, which is to see that that's a choice too.
Yes.
But it also just unravels, because you can't unsee the fact that you're seeing it's a choice. It's like it's eating itself.
Eating its own tail
Exactly. You can't unsee it. There can be some skepticism or denial for a while, but not too much. At some point it's like eating its own tail and there's nothing left.
The mind is going to grasp. Part of it will keep grasping for that little identification, that contraction, so that the release feels good again. At some point that's just going to stop, and all there will be is intimacy with this. And the recognition is not an intellectual thing. It's a tasting, a savoring of that delicious freedom, that expansiveness. It's not going to be fireworks. It's just the tasting of it at any moment. It's always here. It's in everything. It's in the sounds, in the sensations of the hand, in the seeing.
Freedom from becoming
I can see that. This is where it starts to get funny, because it reminds me of what we talked about a few weeks ago: the freedom from becoming. It's funny that it's always here but somehow hides. At least for me, it becomes funny sometimes.
Those words, "freedom from becoming," were very powerful for me to hear. They really hit me.
Because it's endless, what we can heal, how we can grow, how we can challenge ourselves. It can be really easy to get caught up in that. But there's also the savoring. So it's a kind of "both and": the growing can still happen alongside the savoring of this.
When the savoring of this is seen as naturally always available and present, then the play and fun of the journey of becoming, the endless, never-ending growing and exploring, is just so delightful. Because it comes from the knowing that there isn't anywhere to arrive, and that the tasting of this is the tastiest.
Right. It's not from need. My pattern has been wanting to become out of a sense of need, like I need to get something. That's seeking. Thank you.