Silent Musings

It’s ironic how truth operates. When one has no clue what it is or how to find it, there seems to be no trouble telling great tales of false notions so firmly believed. Then, as truth is approached more closely, suddenly the ability to speak about it seems to disappear completely. There comes a realization that there is no way to state the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and one must be satisfied at best to point in its general direction. Even then there is a certainty that some, if not most, will misinterpret what is said. It has to be this way.

Fortunately, with this realization comes the knowledge that all is well and as it should be. The compulsion to be heard is so closely aligned with untruth, that it is likely impossible to have one without the other. And so one is content to speak only when spoken to, and to allow the quest for truth drive the need to communicate it. No quest, no communication.

And so it appears that there is nothing left to say, at least for now. It’s not so much that the end of the path has been reached as the path has dwindled into nothing. There is surely somewhere to go from here, but there is no idea as to where. And “I” am no longer the guide on this journey. Okay, so I never was the guide, but I did believe I was.

Therefore the future is now left in the capable hands of the universe. If questions come to “me” to be answered, I may answer, if so compelled. No promises. But you, dear reader, are certainly welcome to ask if you have any that surely need answering. From where the answers may come, I cannot say.

Perhaps without prompting something will arise spontaneously that wants to be written, but I wouldn’t count on it. I used to wonder when the sages that I knew would say that nothing in their interactions was as important as the questions being asked. Now I understand. To reveal itself as any kind of manifestation, the truth needs to be sought in earnest. Otherwise, it simply rests as it is.

Man: God, if you can hear me, please answer my prayer. I’m desperate to discover your true nature.

God: …

Man: Please, God! I don’t know how long I can take this. I’ve meditated for over 30 years, and still, nothing. Can you please show me a sign?

God: …

Man: God, why have you forsaken me? You reveal yourself to others, but not to me. Can you please show me, just this once? That’s all I ask.

God: …

Man: This is hopeless. I need a drink.

God: (thinking to himself) How much more clear and obvious can I be?! This is hopeless. I need a drink.

It is difficult to write when one has no frame of reference from which to speak. No map, no truth, nothing of which to be certain, no experience that connects to any other in any logical way. There is a distinct connection in every moment, but it is perplexingly self-referential, yet simulaneously all encompassing.

What else can I say? You had to be there? Except that there isn’t any “there” there. Maybe one day I’ll have something more to say, or maybe “I” will simply disappear into the Beautiful empty pages that emanate from the Heart.

What kind of work
Can I do in this world?

Who would be kind enough
To hire an old holy Bum,

One with a great reputation
For loving the charms
Of the lawless
And the wild artists and the lewd?

Maybe I could become a poet.

Maybe the Beloved
Will make my love so Pure

That He will come to sit upon
All my Beautiful empty pages.
And when you come to look at them,

He might kick you
With His Beautiful Divine Foot.

- Hafiz

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Something quite extraordinary, yet at the same time so utterly ordinary happened during morning meditation yesterday. Spontaneously and without any effort whatsoever, the spiritual seeker that had inhabited this body-mind since its birth drew its last breath and died of natural causes. It all happened to the tune of the song, Que Será, Será (Whatever will be, will be), the once popular tune featured, ironically enough, in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1956 classic, The Man Who Knew Too Much. As it played in consciousness during sitting meditation, the lyrics had been curiously altered to Que Está, Está (Whatever is, is). By some act of Grace, this phrase turned out to be the last catalyst required for the release of the seeker’s bond.

When such an event occurs, one can easily be perplexed by the apparent contradictions conjured up by the experience of it. There is a release into total liberation, and at the same time, no change at all from the state of human bondage. One is completely free to be trapped in the delusion that is human life. There is the sense that this is a uniquely rare occurrence, and yet the direct knowledge that it is also universally common, and only missed by so many because it is too obvious to see. One feels at once certain that this is the end of the path, and yet also that it is only the beginning. This is what one has always wanted, and yet, nothing has been attained, and it is not at all what one expected to find.

The seeker’s path is defined by the desire to achieve a state that is not this - whether it means liberation, enlightenment, or any other fancy spiritual term or picture that one has in mind. Often, these images are interpretations of what we read, or perhaps hear from our teachers and spiritual friends. Looking back, it is not surprising that the goals held in this mind of what seeking might bring were never once fulfilled. Never, ever. This path was one of total and complete failure. It was also a pathless path, in the sense that it can never be repeated, nor should it be. Each journey is unique, and yet ultimately ends up back at the beginning. Back to this.

In the end, when seeking is done, one can only be certain of one thing - That I Am, I Am That, and That Is All There Is. After morning meditation, the dishes in the sink left over from the previous night’s meal sat waiting, looking back at themselves as they were being hand-washed, one by one. Each one a baby Buddha to be adored, each one as simple and plain as the dishwasher, each one returning the love and careful attention they received from their owner.

Reality can neither be proved nor disproved. Within the mind you cannot, beyond the mind you need not. In the real, the question, “what is real?” does not arise. The manifested and unmanifested are not different.

I am all. As myself all is real. Apart from me, nothing is real.

-Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, from I Am That

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