The Hell That Ends When It No Longer Needs To
El infierno que termina cuando ya no necesita terminar
A student describes a recurring contraction in the chest that seems to toggle between a sense of self and no-self, and the teacher guides them toward the deeper pain and fear that lies beneath the contraction, revealing that true resolution comes not from fixing or escaping but from intimate, unconditional presence with what feels unbearable.
The Hell That Ends When It No Longer Needs To
A student describes a recurring contraction in the chest that seems to toggle between a sense of self and no-self, and the teacher guides them toward the deeper pain and fear that lies beneath the contraction, revealing that true resolution comes not from fixing or escaping but from intimate, unconditional presence with what feels unbearable.
There's this contraction in my chest that has been going on for years, pretty much ever since I had a heart awakening. It's either total love and joy, or this very intense contraction. The contraction is clearly connected to a belief in a central "me." If I examine it, it immediately relaxes because it becomes clear there's no one here. But then it's such a strange thing, because I don't even know what a contraction or a sensation really is. It's almost like a thought: "Oh, this contraction is here, and I have to do something with it, fix it." As soon as I check, not only does the contraction open, but even whatever discomfort is left, if I try to feel it, I don't even know what it is. It doesn't exist. It's just like air.
It almost feels like I have this ability to filter all of experience through a lens. I can either have a "self" lens or a "no-self" lens. It's like a duality has been created, and I can switch between the two modes. But obviously the more habitual mode is the self, so that's the default until I check. And then the checking reinforces this sense that there's a "me" who checks, and then it works, and then I go to the correct mode, and I just have to hang out there more.
In a sense, there are two things here. One is that what you're saying is actually true. Let me put it this way, and this requires language that's more poetic than precise.
In a way, you are oscillating between truth and illusion. And yes, you do just have to choose truth. But what can happen, which is what you're getting at, is that there is still a duality.
The vase and the faces
At some point, when you see something that can still be seen but hasn't yet been seen, you won't have to choose it anymore. It will simply be clear. Think of the optical illusion where there's a vase and two faces. You can alternate: "I see two faces, I see a vase, I see two faces." And for every person, there's a kind of perceptual preference. This happens with other optical illusions too, like the one with a spinning ballerina. Depending on the person, some people see it spinning one way, others see it spinning the other way. Then you can make a strange shift in interpretation and suddenly you start seeing it going the other direction. It's one image that doesn't change. It depends entirely on how it's interpreted.
We're wired to have a kind of preference, one way or the other. And then you can practice the switch, where it becomes easy to see that it's actually one image, but you can interpret it as going left or going right. It's actually not going in any direction. It's a two-dimensional image. Same with the vase and the faces: it's really just ink on paper. There's no vase. There are no faces. But you can interpret faces, you can interpret vase. At some point, you're going to be able to see that it's just ink on paper, which you can interpret as vase or faces, but the reality is ink on paper. That is the only thing that's real.
The switch you're talking about, self and no-self, and the struggle of having to make that switch, is the beginning of the seeing. When you first look at that image, you see a vase and only a vase. Then after some effort you can see the faces. Then you can alternate: vase, faces, vase, faces. And then at some point, you just realize the vase is not there, the faces are not there. You're interpreting them. They're cool, fun interpretations. But they're interpretations.
I mean, this has been going on for years, and there's a kind of lingering trust in what you're saying, like it's eventually just going to resolve.
That's the part that's not fun. But in a sense, that's where it's up to you to really stick to what's true. And that's the part that's hard, because if you do, something will stop, something will end. There's still an illusion that will end, something you're probably holding on to. And that's what's keeping this sense of you doing the switch, you doing something.
The exhaustion of staying in charge
It's so clear what these core beliefs are. This is really just the core of the human experience for everyone: these survival beliefs of "I have to stay in charge in order to make sure I'm safe." Yesterday I had a friend come over to help me, because I'm still bed-bound with this illness twenty-four hours a day. She's here to help, here to create more ease. But I have to be in charge the whole time with my mind, micromanaging every little detail of where things need to go, how things should be done. I'm exhausted.
I reflect on that whole experience and see: that's the experience of being a person. It's just this exhausting micromanagement. And I experimented with it. I thought, "Let me just let her do whatever and not do that." And then she would do it wrong, and I had to fix it. So it's proof. That's the evidence that keeps showing me I have to stay in control.
No, no. That's not the kind of evidence we're talking about. In that situation, I would say: find the evidence that when things don't go well, it doesn't matter. To the level that you're concerned, you're talking about this deep distrust of what is, the control of what is, the avoidance of the pain of what is. What I'm saying is: look for the evidence that all of that is okay. Things not going your way are okay. Your friend coming to help and making a mess is okay. That's the evidence.
Yes, ultimately it's true. If she messes everything up, it's still okay on the deepest level.
But that deepest level can be present while she's messing things up.
Right. I guess it's just so hard in this human experience. You still want things to go a little better.
There is no trade-off
That's mind. That's belief. You want to, and so what? Who cares? What for?
I know the experience of going into the kitchen, something goes wrong, falls, breaks. And then the contraction, the moment of "things are not going my way," especially if I'm rushed and have to go somewhere. It all snowballs into that distress of small things not going your way.
And I also know the experience of going into a kitchen, doing something, and something falls and breaks. Same exact thing. But the difference is: "Oh, that broke. Now what? Let's clean it up and move on to the next thing." I'm still doing the same things I did before. I still have to fix it. Imagine it's your friend who comes and does something wrong. I still have to fix it. It's not going the way I want. She's not helping as much as I thought. But the difference is: either things are really distressing and not going my way, or it's, "Oops, that's not going my way, but this is what's happening." And it's fine.
I guess it's like this: this is how it developed to begin with. As a species, we learned that mental activity and control work. You put in the effort and it does change the course. It does make the vase fall less often if you put in a little extra thought and care.
Yes, but that is guaranteed to always cause suffering.
Right, and that feels like the trade-off.
There is no trade-off. You can know what I just described. You still address what's happening. You still fix what your friend messed up. You still have to jump in and help or fix it. On one hand, you're expecting that to bring you happiness, expecting it to end somewhere where you're finally going to be okay, and that's what you're controlling in order to reach. Or you discover that you're already okay right now, and you still have to fix what your friend did, but it's all okay. You're fine. The happiness is here. The well-being is here. The peace is here.
I think ideally, well-being is the ground, and then on the practical level, you're still using intelligence. Things can be done to prevent falling and hurting.
That's where it's not a trade-off. You still have intelligence, you still have hands, you still have a mind, you still have legs. And in fact, you're now doing things from peace and well-being, versus from a sense of fear and lack.
I can definitely say that it's monumentally less fear than it was before. So it improves. But the more it improves, the more intensified it feels when the fear does arise, because there's such a contrast from the peace.
That's normal. It is just a matter of time, and it is for you to keep choosing reality. At some point, you're going to see it was always only the reality, and there was always peace. That whole dichotomy of doing things right or wrong, illusion or not illusion, suddenly collapses. There was never even illusion. It was just pretending there was.
I can even sense that now. In the midst of the tension, it's still there. It's such a strange thing I can't even describe. It's like a paradoxical "both." This is clearly an illusion, and also there's a sense of suffering.
Beneath the contraction
That's a very real place. What can help is to sense more into that which is the "now," to have a denser awareness of what it feels like. Is it a pain? Is it a fear? Is it both? Really be able to touch and sense it. I'm not talking about the contraction, which one can obsess over, trying to be in touch with it in order to undo it. I'm talking about a deeper sense: a pain and a fear. Suppose that control goes away and the pain goes away, but the contraction remains.
It's hard for me to imagine a separate pain from this contraction.
I sense there's something deeper. I think there's a need for you right now to sense more deeply: why is the contraction a problem?
Anytime I ask that, it's like: it isn't. And then I'm confused. Why was it a problem? I don't know. If I ever have to ask and check, it isn't.
That's where you need to look at where it is a problem, and not hide that from yourself. Because you can switch now. If I ask you, "Look at the vase," you say, "No, there are faces, there's paper." But look at how it appears that there's a vase. Be honest. Be really clear with yourself. When it is a problem, why is it a problem? I know you know it's not a problem. That's not the question. When it appears to be a problem, why? I would suspect there's a pain there, or a fear, or both.
It's just what was being discussed earlier. It's just this "no," this rejection: "I don't want this."
There's a "no" at the level of the mind and the thoughts. "No" is a word, a concept. At the level of feeling and sensing, there's going to be another kind of experience, closer to what we call fear and pain.
Even deeper than the contraction sensation?
Deeper. In fact, the contraction is a way to not feel it. The contraction is a numbing.
I can sense the emotional welling up that happens. The energy shoots up out of my heart. It's like fear mixed with grief.
Yes. That's it. That's what I recommend you get in touch with. It will help resolve that dichotomy. But it requires a lot of honesty, because you're going to find ways to weave yourself away from it.
A spiral, not a loop
It's something I feel into a lot, and it just seems like it loops. It wells up, then dissipates. Wells up, dissipates. It just keeps looping like that.
Let the looping go deeper every time. Then it's not a loop; it's a spiral. And it will become clear, and it will settle.
Settle, meaning permanently? Or just in the moment? Because it does settle in the moment.
It will settle permanently. It will clarify and resolve. Even if the contraction remains and the pain comes and goes, the whole issue will resolve at a much deeper level.
That's familiar, like where I keep getting stuck. So I think it's subtle enough that I need to find where it's not really deep enough into that pain to totally resolve.
Now you're labeling it: "deep enough," black and white. Is it deep enough or not? Just be with it. No need for it to be deeper or deep enough for it to resolve. It's a bit of a paradox, because I am saying it will resolve and the path is to be with it, but it needs to be without turning it into something to do and get right or wrong. It really is the sensing of it. It's not about the contraction.
When I'm with it, maybe I'll cry a little bit, and then I'm with this sensation, this moment of fear and sadness. Then I feel like something has resolved, but something is still not resolved. It's like the pain of that. It's like, "Oh, it's just endless, and I can't do anything."
What if it's endless
You're closer. That's it. It seems endless. There's nothing you can do. That's how it seems. That's a true description of that intimacy. And what if it is endless? What if it's there forever?
That's the helplessness.
And what is the helplessness? It's a pain, it's a fear. What if it is forever? Can you be with it forever? It will be the end of time.
That's hell for this thought of a "me" that has to suffer that forever.
Exactly. Now we're getting close to it. It's a hell. Comparable. Trapped. No way out. No way through. Powerless. Never-ending pain, fear, suffering.
And it's like no one can save me, and I can't save me.
Absolute powerlessness. Now you're close. When this doesn't need to change, and this doesn't need to stop, you'll be free from it. Paradoxically, that's when it resolves.
I guess it's the fighting with it that keeps it alive.
It's the condition: "This needs to stop, this needs to end." But what you're describing is beautiful. That's when you're close to it. That's what it appears like: powerless, like a hell. You will only be okay if that ends or stops. That's what I mean by being close to it. That's what you're doing right now. And from there, you won't spend energy trying to fix or avoid it.
That's exactly how it feels. Every minute of life is to avoid this.
So the closer you are to it, the more you'll be able to pace yourself and your energy, making choices that are more aligned, more true, less about fixing this, avoiding it, numbing it. All of which is exhausting and doesn't work.
So then my mind goes: "Am I supposed to just be in this little ball forever?"
It's not a little ball. It will come and go. But when it comes, you're with it, you're attuned, just as you have been in the last few minutes. Then it's going to pass, then it's going to come, then it's going to pass. It's like a friend that's visiting. It comes and goes. When it's here, it's welcome.
I can feel now how I'm going into the mind, separating from it, and that's creating pain.
Yes. That's where you can start to see how futile that is. It's not fixing or helping. The more you see that, the more it will calm down.
It burns at first
It actually feels better to just be in it. But at the same time, the thought comes: "I can't function like this."
Not true. That's just more thinking. It's like putting your foot in a very hot tub. It does not feel good. But slowly, little by little, in the end it's going to be delightful. Because what you're touching is the deepest form of love. It just burns at first. It's excruciating.
It really is love. It's so tender, such intimacy with pain.
Just slowly. Gently.
I can see how these beliefs are like a wall built around that, and the mind thinks it's safer outside of it, safer in thought.
You're seeing more and more clearly that it's not. It just doesn't help. Be very gentle and slow. Trust.