If the one who feels the need to make an effort is a dreamer woven into an illusion, how can effort have any significance?
If all progressive paths are part of a dreamed narrative, then what possibe significance can progress have?
The dreamer may make an effort. Or the dreamer may dream she is walking a difficult path.
Perhaps the one behind the dreamer, the aware reality, can indulge this dreamed reality and let it arise and dissolve as it will.
There is, quite literally, nowhere to go. There is no one who can go anywhere.
(This is a theme that I wil doubtless revisit often in these ramblings!)
As far back as I can remember, I have been afraid of death. I remember even as a young child feeling rage and sorrow that “all this” would one day simply end. That would be that. I never believed stories of an afterlife.
The teachings of non-duality have altered my feelings towards death, radically and viscerally.
“I” am most certainly a fiction: that is point number one. The carefully constructed personality, built out of experiences and memories, is a fiction, and its seeming death need not be mourned.
Point number two: the present is a “moving shifting mysterious event,” as Darryl might put it. Death, no doubt, will also be a moving shifting mysterious event.
Point number 3: death feels like going home, a return to that boundless space from which all of us seemed to “arise” at birth. Going home feels like a relief. No ego to cart around any more.
We will all be liberated when “we” die. It is cool to be liberated in this lifetime, but it may not be such a big deal, except for the deluded ego, that is.
In some Buddhist meditation techniques, the practitioner is taught to repeatedly bring attention to the breath in fine, subtle detail. Whenever it is noticed that the mind has wandered far away, the suggestion is to bring the attention back to the breath. The intention is, I think, to refine attention as well as to become aware of the “monkey mind.”
I find it refreshing to pay attention to the breath, but from a slightly different angle. It is fun to see that the breath is simply happening. Similarly, it is fun to notice that the heart is beating, the body is spontaneously moving, thoughts and moods are spontaneously arising without a doer.
Attention to the breath is a powerful gateway into the realisation that “I” am not causing things to happen. Worlds are arising and dissolving without “my” having to do a thing about it.
Point your forefinger back at yourself and look for the “looker,” or the self. We might then notice a peculiar absence, obvious all along but somehow overlooked.
(Douglas Harding has developed many such experiments that directly point to an emptiness of self. You can find these at headless.org)
Put another way, we might register the absence of a boundary between “self” and “world.” As Douglas says, “I was nowhere around.” “I” seems to have dissolved into the world, like a sugar crystal into water.
In essence, headlessness seems to question the powerful assumption that “I-am-the-body.” The pointing experiment shows up this assumption for what it is quite dramatically and in a profoundly non-verbal fashion.
It seems that the Void can become evident in ordinary daily life.
One of my favourite philosophers, John Gray, opens his book Straw Dogs (critiquing liberal humanism) with a quote from the Tao Te Ching:
“Heaven and earth are ruthless, and treat the myriad creatures as straw dogs.”
Nature is not interested in my psychological state, or in my creativity or longevity or philosophical acuity or ambition or “success.” Nature does not care about the human individual at all. It is the survival of the species that matters.
From a non-dual “perspective,” the creative force in the universe is profoundly impersonal. It is not interested in our individual projects. It does not choose between the disease and the victim, between the virtuous and the evil. It is deep impersonal love.
Darwin teaches that species are only assemblies of genes, interacting at random with each other and their shifting environments. Species cannot control their fates. Species do not exist. This applies equally to humans.
John Gray. “Straw Dogs”.
We do not control our fates, either as individuals or as societies or as a species. We are as subject to the laws of nature, and the laws of impersonal love, as the flower, the star, the gorilla, the virus.
Seeing this has the flavour of a unique kind of freedom.