A student discovers that the very identification they were trying to fix was itself an illusion, leading to a wide-ranging exploration of the doer, the refuge of intellectual knowing, and the paradox of spaciousness and intimacy.
A student discovers that the very identification they were trying to fix was itself an illusion, leading to a wide-ranging exploration of the doer, the refuge of intellectual knowing, and the paradox of spaciousness and intimacy.
What came up as I was listening is, first of all, it's always about seeing and nothing more. At the end of the day, there might be all kinds of different things on the side, but ultimately that's all there is. And the other thing that came up: I think what I just discovered is that I felt like I was committing the ultimate sin in non-duality, which is identifying with thought or being taken over by thought. Like, "I thought I was over that kind of thing." I think I didn't notice the judgment going on. "What the hell? There's something wrong." As opposed to, "Oh, this is showing up, just another thing showing up." And obviously, it's a great opportunity to see that this is another chunk of the identification. That's all. That's what I'm coming up with.
Notice: when you catch yourself in what you call identification, notice what's really there. Because ultimately, there isn't even that.
There isn't identification?
It's an illusion.
It's so crazy. It totally caught me off guard. What else could it be? And here I am in the midst of it, fighting a dragon that I've created. Who created it? There's no "I," there's no dragon, there's nothing.
Right. Life is now the ultimate task: "Let's get this identification problem fixed."
I have to graduate. I have to get a certificate. It feels so linear. But it's such a riot when I look at it the way you're describing it. You got me totally off guard.
It was never there in the first place.
Much ado about nothing. I can just feel the investment. Years, millennia probably. My body is trembling. What an anticlimax. It's crazy.
All that trouble about nothing
All of that trouble about nothing. That's humility. "At least I thought I knew what the problem was really about. I figured it out. It's all about identification. I got it."
It's always the same. There's nowhere to go. It's always the same. "How can I be so dumb?" is what I want to say.
"The son of man has nowhere to rest his head." Nowhere to rest her head. Not even the problem of identification. That's the challenge.
Exactly. I love the simple, and this is more simple than simple. That's the problem. It's even more simple than that. I mean, it's not a problem, but I want to make it a problem.
The tricky thing with this is that the words I'm saying, the concept of "there is no identification," can then be co-opted to feed more illusion.
It's all the same. It's just production, production, production. That's what it is. And it's infinite. It will produce anything out of nothing.
That's the power of the mind. To imagine anything. It's infinite.
I feel a kind of "huh?" right now, which is probably a good place, because the mind can't deal with it. It feels like a Zen koan. I'm in the middle of "huh?" when I was hoping to feel "ah."
The anticlimax of deepening
"Progressing on my de-identification path." It's very anticlimactic, I have to say. There are a lot of climaxes in the beginning, because there's somebody on a journey and there are all these intense ups and downs. Then, as the clarification goes deeper, it's more and more subtle. The shifts are more subtle, and the climaxes are evened out. But there is, at least there was for me, something really big at the end. Not big in the sense of a climactic experience. It wasn't a lot of experience. It was big in the liberation, in the freedom. But at the same time, it was the most subtle thing.
That's very helpful to hear, because it's almost like there's a pivot, but there's not even a pivot. It's the nothing, the all. It just falls away. Anyway, thank you.
The stickiness of the doer
I think the thing I notice that seems to be sticky for me is the doer. I don't even know what the question is, but there's something that seems like a strong pull. I don't know if asking or clarifying through a question is even helpful, or if it's more of a resistance out of some sort of fear or fear of pain.
You mean the sense of stewardship is a resistance?
Like, if I let go of that, I suspect there's a lot of pain underneath it.
Yes. Ultimately, what we're talking about, going into thought and identifying, creating the illusion of "I am that" in thought, is a way to pacify.
I understand that, as far as I know. And I can't think of a question about it. But that doesn't seem to be enough. "There is a doer" is a belief, right? That always made sense, and any time I've had a powerful glimpse, that was always the last little piece: "Not me doing this." What could you do if you're asking to see what's not you? But I guess it's hard to trust that. When I put it in words, it doesn't make sense. "I let go of the doer," but there's no doer, so there's nothing to let go of. Maybe it's more like relaxing all the anxiety of "Am I doing everything I need to do? Are all the boxes checked?"
Planning versus creating an entity
There's a difference between the functioning of planning and then the creating of an entity that is "I," that's the one fully tasked with all of it.
But isn't the anxiety a little bit of an indication that there is an "I"? Because I could still function and just do, without any of that.
I think the anxiety is just the consequence of that. It's not what's feeding it. It's the consequence of ultimately not seeing that the most valuable thing, which is not a thing, is already here. And that all of the doing isn't going to get you more of it or closer to it. And that's sort of devastating.
It feels anticipatory. Like, "Oh God, not that, that could be devastating." Actually, this is an interesting question. In the Divine Comedy, there's an emphasis on what the sin is. Is that the case here? Because what I just noticed is that it's like a pride. I'm all about "look at what I'm doing," instead of recognizing what's actually more valuable than that.
That's a good approach. The Divine Comedy is like a map. And that's useful, because only a separate entity can achieve and take credit or merit. So it's that self-feeding loop of pride or arrogance. And the apparent meaninglessness is just the loss of that value. "Everything I was doing this for is not that valuable." But there's still something deeper. I suppose you could call it meaning, but there's a deeper satisfaction than meaning.
There's just a lot of pride.
And if everything you've done and achieved and can do and achieve is all being given, because it's given to you.
That can be hard to take. It doesn't feel like pride, but I can sense it. I have an experience, or a thought or memory, of a part of me that used to really feel that: "I don't have to do anything. It's been given."
But it's given to you. Maybe the thing to reframe is the sense that it's devastating. That's also an interpretation. Is it a sensation, or is it more of a thought?
I think it's a memory.
But is there a sensation associated? Memories would be images, thoughts.
Well, we're talking in concepts. It's not like I'm experiencing that right now.
Ultimately, it comes down to how badly you want to be free from that, and the temptation that comes with the whole dynamic we're talking about. I totally understand that it is devastating. It could be shocking to see there's nothing really there.
The Prodigal Son
To me, this is what the Parable of the Prodigal Son is talking about. The two sons are that polarity. The prodigal son who returns is saying, "I've tried to be me and have it all be about me. It's failed. It hasn't given me anything really valuable." And so he returns to the father, but in humility and in failure. He has squandered all of the wealth that was given, experienced all of the things he could have, and is still unsatisfied. And so that's the surrender. But the son who stayed has not gained the realization. He didn't even try.
So the son who stayed is spiritual bypassing?
I think the parable metaphorically points to something, and that's pretty good. Spiritual bypassing is like that. "I'm already there." It's a state of repressing and resisting life force. Because ultimately, the real surrender is feeling the pain, the real pain that's there. The truest form of surrender is being with what really is, not ignoring it.
But in order to let go fully, you almost have to feel fully what is there, right?
Exactly. And it's engaging with life fully, with whatever the deepest, truest desires and longings are, not fighting them and resisting them in order to be at peace, in order to be home.
Spaciousness and intimacy
With more presence, being able to handle situations, being present in as many situations as you can, having an open heart through it all.
Very much, exactly. And to the spaciousness, I would add intimacy. Because if there's too much talk about spaciousness, it can create a sense of detachment, and that is only possible by going into subtle states of thought. Whereas with intimacy, there is a spaciousness, and there's also an intimacy where everything that is appearing (all of the fears and pain, sensations, sights, sounds, everything) is so close, there's no distance. It's so clear and pristine and alive, as opposed to distant or in some kind of space. What I would say ultimately is the possible resting place: absolute intimacy with everything that is appearing.
Right. But then it's also necessary to empty yourself, to almost empty your mind, to distance yourself from yourself in a way, in order to come back more fully.
I would say it's not so much the distancing from yourself. It's the clarifying that what you thought you are is thoughts. And in that sense, yes, a distancing from that contraction or that perspective, so that then you can have direct experience of sight, sound, sensation, life, and everything that comes with it. But yes, there is a first step, which is seeing that you are not what you thought you are. What you thought you are is made of thoughts. And even more, what is experienced as self, as subject, is an interpretation layer, a veil of thoughts. That could be appearing right now for you, and it can be looked at directly. And if it's not seen, it could be inquired: "What if everything that I am knowing as subject is made of thought?"
Emptying and immersion
I just think that sometimes we celebrate these empty states too much, as if the goal is having an empty mind, having no thoughts. But maybe having that intimacy with the thoughts, having that connection with life, is the ultimate goal.
Yes, I agree. I would say that's the second step. The first step is what, for many, is the ultimate end: the empty mind, the disidentification. But that's only valuable and real if one ends up fully immersed in absolute intimacy, including the aspects of life that come with being animals. There's a mammalian experience that is lived intimately, with all instincts, with desires, with all that comes. That first step, the emptying, is just a way to clear that which is in the way. But it's very important. It's almost impossible to be fully immersed in that intimacy without first seeing the emptiness of what we thought we were.
Then we do the meditations and we sit and we watch our thoughts and we clear our minds. But then we go on with our day and we feel the day and we go through all these different emotions, different pains, feelings of loneliness. These are all things that come and go, and we can watch them, not necessarily from a place of pure disconnection, but see them in a light where we have more space for them. The meditation gives us a bigger capacity to sit with them and see them for what they are.
One hundred percent. And I would add: having more space, and at the same time, paradoxically, having no space. Just absolute full immersion. Absolute full immersion with the loneliness as it appears, with whatever is appearing. At the same time, the spaciousness, to the point where it's hard to even distinguish the spaciousness from the immersion and the intimacy. They're the same thing.
I find that the more I do both of these together, not rejecting one and giving the other more attention, I find that both the emptying and the intimacy have intrinsic value. You can't accept one part without also accepting the other.
One hundred percent. I think it's Nisargadatta who said something like: "Wisdom tells me I am nothing. Love tells me I am everything. And between those two, my life unfolds." I think it's pointing to that. The emptiness is the "I am nothing," the wisdom. And the "I am everything" is the intimacy, the closeness to everything that is appearing. In a sense, they appear to be two perspectives. But in language, it can be communicated that way, while ultimately they are indistinguishable: the intimacy and the emptiness, the love and the mystery of the emptiness. Because in that "I am everything," it is so intimate that nothing is rejected. And that's love. It's the accepting of everything as it is.
Acceptance and action
And that includes all of our human pain, all of our loneliness, all of our feelings of not belonging. All of that really belongs there, because it's really there.
One hundred percent. And it also includes, as everything that is happening is accepted, the desire to change something, to address something that is unjust or unkind or unloving. That is also accepted and lived. So it's a paradox. Everything is accepted, but it doesn't mean we allow injustice.
Right. Absolutely. You have to have boundaries as well. You have to stay faithful to yourself. At some point on the journey, perhaps someone like Gandhi was quite good at this, living in such a place of truth that he rejected all injustice and tried to stand with his honest, lived, and felt truth.
What is important to you, what is true to you, and taking the risk of that, not really knowing whether it's coming from the deepest place or not, but risking it and being willing to learn. Maybe it came from a belief in separation, from a sense of limitation, or maybe it was a deeper, truer desire. And if you're sure you know which one it is, it's probably not that. If you're sure it's coming from a deep place, that's probably a belief.
The refuge of knowing
That's one of my favorite topics: the knowing. Because that's one of my biggest pitfalls, and I can't hear about it enough. I find that in a lot of these conversations, it's lurking in the background. "Ah, now I get it." It's this habit of looking for the ultimate refuge. My favorite refuge in life has been knowing.
The intellect.
I guess that's it. It's hard for me sometimes to catch it. It's another one that's hard to catch. So it's helpful to hear about it, to remind me.
There are different forms of knowing, and the word can refer to different things. There's the knowing of sound when sound appears, that direct experiencing. And then there's the knowing of "this is a finger snapping."
The knowing I'm talking about is the one that contracts me, the one I stumble over. It's invisible like air to me.
It's a survival strategy, and it can become an addiction. But because it's so valued in this society, it's not seen as something that's not optimal.
I almost never hear anyone talk about this the way you do. Even teachers, because teachers know: "This is how it is." That dogmatic stance. And I find it so difficult, because it seems like it's going to pounce or it's underlying things without me even knowing it.
Assertiveness from not knowing
Did your teacher demonstrate that in the way he behaved? Could you feel that he was in a place of not knowing? Because he sounds to me like if anyone knew, it was him.
That's the paradox. Somebody who's so deep in the wisdom of that, I've seen it to some degree operate in me, in the sense that the less I know, the better things get. Especially in the last few years, every form of knowing intellectually or mentally is seen very clearly, most of the time, or very quickly. But then what comes through is a certain assertiveness that seems like I know. Actually, it's an assertiveness that comes from something that feels more like I'm in constant free fall, not knowing, taking a risk, going fully with what is appearing. What comes through could feel very assertive, as if I'm coming from a place of knowing, but it's just not-knowing speaking through.
It's beautiful. It's either fearlessness or not caring about fear. It's really beautiful. Then you don't need to know. You're just here, and it is.
And there are all forms of learning and knowing that are also welcomed and enjoyed and appreciated and valued, including intellectual knowing. Everything in its right place.
As long as it's not my refuge. That's the difference.
It was mine as well.
It's a great place to hang out, until it isn't.
The notebooks and the tree
It stopped being that for me as a teenager. I was voraciously learning everything I could, and my school teachers were giving me university-level books because I was so far beyond what was taught in school. My biology teacher gave me the Cambridge university biology book. My physics teacher gave me the Oxford physics book. These were huge books for the university, and I was just at home going through them, memorizing, while my friends were out having fun. I thought that was the path to well-being, that it was going to give me what I was looking for.
I was obsessively scribbling in notebooks. I would buy empty notebooks and write the question "What is truth?" and then answer it. I didn't realize at the time that it was obsession, but I was doing this inquiry over and over: "What is truth?" I filled about fifteen notebooks just answering that one question.
Until one day I was sitting, and I had started to become very unhappy. I think I already was, but it became the foreground of my experience. I was just very miserable. I remember looking out the window at a tree. It was always outside the window in my kitchen, so it wasn't a new tree. And I was asking, "What is truth?" And I realized: there is no truth. There is only what is real.
That came to me as the answer to the question. Another thought, right? But it felt like: I can't trust any expression of truth that can be written down, that can be expressed in thought or in language. And so "what is real" became the exploration. Something really changed there. I started to have openings and a big series of crises, and then I met my teacher. There was something around that which ultimately was valuable: that passion, that love for truth. But I was expecting truth to come in the form of a book, something I could memorize. And the same with problem solving. I was studying math, and the ability to solve problems was something I was very attached to.
It's beautiful. Thank you so much.
A teacher once told me that truth, for some people, is like an addiction. And I think she was addressing this, which became much more obvious to me later: the truth that is final, that you can write in stone, that is the resting place. "As long as I understand everything, I'll be okay. I'll be able to avoid all the fear and pain. Life will be good." It doesn't work.