The Authentic Life (3 page)

The third major obstacle we encounter on the spiritual path is our deep-seated desire to feel a particular way, whether it's calm or clear or spacious or simply free of anxiety. This obstacle is so universal and so deeply entrenched that we are guaranteed to get stuck in it again and again. In fact, whenever we feel frustrated in any way, if we simply ask, “How is it supposed to be?”—we'll see that our discomfort is based, at least in part, on the entitled belief that we
should
feel different, namely better. Probably all of us share the illusion that if we practice long enough and hard enough, we'll get what we want—enlightenment, good health,
a satisfying relationship, or whatever else we're seeking. The hope is that in getting the reward, we will then feel the way we want to feel, and be happy.

We can tell that we're still harboring this illusion if we believe that not feeling good or experiencing distress means that something is wrong—or even that something is wrong with
us
. This persistent belief drives us to do whatever we can to alleviate our discomfort. We think if we just practice harder, we're sure to feel better. We should never underestimate the extent to which we equate feeling better with being awake. But a key point about spiritual practice is that we don't have to feel
any
particular way.

The only way we can learn this essential point is from our own life experience. It took me months of struggling with an intense immune system illness to learn that it was possible to experience genuine equanimity even in the midst of persistent bodily discomfort, including unrelenting bouts of nausea. The equanimity came, in part, from seeing through the sense of entitlement, starting with the belief that we need to feel good in order to be happy. The lie that this entitlement tells us is that we can't be happy if we're in discomfort. But giving up this entitlement, what remains? The simple answer: life-as-it-is. This leads us to the basic conclusion that all we can do is experience, and work with, whatever is arising in our life right now. No matter what is going on or how we feel about it, the essence of spiritual practice is to honestly acknowledge what is happening in the moment and stay present with our experience of it. In this way we can come to feel a true appreciation for life just as it is, because we're no longer caught in our judgments or demands that life be different.

There's a famous Buddhist story about a man who was shot in the chest with an arrow. The pain was great, but the Buddha
pointed out how much greater the man's pain would be if he had been shot with a second arrow in exactly the same spot. What this teaching suggests is that however painful or disappointing our experience may be, when we add the second arrow of our judgmental thoughts about it, we only deepen the pain, leading to greater suffering.

For example, if I wake up not feeling well and then add the judgment “This shouldn't be happening to me” on top of that, it will make me feel even worse. The countermeasure to our judgments is to move out of the mental world, based in our thoughts about what's happening, into what we're actually physically feeling in the present moment. Judgments are based in ideals or expectations, and these thought-based pictures are at least one step removed from what is real. Coming back to what is, minus our thought-based pictures, is a step toward freedom.

This obstacle—the deeply seated desire to feel a particular way—first has to be seen through. And then, as we realize that we don't have to feel a particular way in order to be free, we can experience the equanimity that comes with staying truly present with what is.

These three obstacles—misunderstanding the depth of waking sleep, underestimating resistance, and wanting to feel a particular way—are guaranteed to be encountered along the spiritual path. They are also sure to make the path of awakening a rocky one, at least for a time. However, knowing about them is the first step toward learning how to effectively work with them. And working with them, in turn, is a major step toward discovering what it means to live authentically.

3

The Eternal Recurrence

T
here's an old Zen saying: “Realizing the Way is hard. Once you have realized it, preserving it is hard. When you can preserve it, putting it into practice is hard.”

When we realize how hard spiritual practice is, the initial honeymoon phase usually ends, especially if we believed that practice was going to save us from ourselves—from our fears and our distress. When we realize that our practice is not, in fact, going to ensure that we'll permanently feel a particular way—such as calm or clear or compassionate—it is very easy to get discouraged. Some students leave practice at this point. But for those who stick it out in spite of the discouragement, there can gradually come a dawning realization. Simone Weil put it very well, writing, “Even if our efforts of attention seem for years to be producing no result, one day a light that is in exact proportion to them will flood the soul.”

We may not necessarily feel like a light is flooding our soul, but we nonetheless come to the undeniable realization that something is shifting. We begin to realize that every event in
our life is an opportunity to practice—that every experience can be food for our being. With this understanding our sense of presence deepens and becomes a more natural part of our everyday reality. We also begin to observe that we don't react so quickly, and that when we do react, the reactions are not nearly as intense as they once were, nor do they last as long. And further, we come to realize that our thoughts are
just
thoughts, and that we don't have to believe them or act on them.

This is the process of gradual awakening, yet this isn't something that comes quickly or easily. There's a price to be paid for it—starting with daily efforts to be present, and continuing with a willingness to work with our everyday difficulties. We also see the need to commit to periodically attending retreats, in order to provide an opportunity to go deeper; and to learning the true meaning of perseverance, which involves continuing to make efforts regardless of the outcome, regardless of how we feel in the moment.

Sometimes we might wonder, “How does this process of gradual awakening actually work?” The short answer is:
awareness heals
. What this actually means is very difficult to describe, but there's a scientific phenomenon called “the observer effect” that can help explain the process. The observer effect is sometimes equated with a discovery of the famous physicist Werner Heisenberg, who said, “The very act of observing disturbs the system.” He was describing how the light from a high-powered microscope actually alters that which is being observed. Likewise, the light of awareness alters and transforms our experience, including our experience of ourselves—the many “Me's” of our small self. The more we are aware of these small selves, the more our attachment to their opinions, entitlements, and fears begins to diminish. This is why knowing ourselves, with precision and honesty, is a time-honored path to becoming free
of our conditioned patterns. While what
actually
happens during this process may still be a mystery, we can nonetheless discover for ourselves, from our own experience, that over time, awareness heals.

In the meantime, practice can seem very hard; and it's inevitable and predictable that we'll have periods of discouragement. Yet, even though we may, at times, get discouraged or confused, the real question is, what then? We can either succumb to the discouragement and confusion or we can ask ourselves, “How do I choose to live?” Occasionally we might think that the path of spiritual practice is too hard and want to give up. We may also reach a point in practice where we get stuck in a rut, to a large extent just going through the motions. At this point, we may fall into the assumption that practice is just about technique—such as proper posture and feeling the breath—and forget the
point
of spiritual practice, which includes learning to live as genuinely as possible.

It's very easy to forget the point of whatever we've been trying to do, where we lose contact with any bigger sense of meaning. This can be very perplexing, and we may find that we simply refuse to do what we know is best for us. The choice of ignoring what's best for us is certainly not logical. But if we look at our own life, perhaps we can understand it better. When we get discouraged or stuck in some way, how often have we been paralyzed with inertia and fear of making a choice? Perhaps we question whether to stay in a relationship or a job. Or we may feel stuck in our practice, unwilling or unable to commit to meditating every day, or not remembering the need to work with what's right in front of us that's calling for attention.

We don't do what we know will help us live more genuinely, in part because of habit—the inertia of continuing to do the same things almost mechanically. We can add to that the fact
that we are often just too lazy to exert a particular type of effort. We prefer the false comfort of our busyness and diversions, the false comfort of our planning and fantasizing, even the false comfort of our emotions. With anger, for example, we prefer the false comfort of being right—the juiciness and power of it. Or in the case of our fears—as much as we dislike them, we still prefer the false comfort of the familiar. We stay trapped in our fear-based cocoon world rather than entering into the potentially healing, unknown territory of actually being present with our fears. The same is true of depression: we prefer the numbness of the depression to actually feeling the feelings that our depression is helping us avoid.

Does this make sense? On one level it doesn't, in that we're choosing to hold on to a very small life—a life of complacency, rather than living more genuinely. This is primarily because we're so identified with our small self—that is, with our deeply held beliefs and our little dramas. We've forgotten the bigger point of what we're doing. We should never underestimate the forces of resistance and inertia—of being stuck in habits and entitlements, such as the belief that life should be free from discomfort. We may also become stuck in deeply rooted thoughts, such as “This is too hard—I can't do it.” When we get caught in the small mind, where we're forgetting the point, or particularly where we're doubting ourselves and questioning what we should do, there's an excellent practice question we can ask ourselves. I learned this from the nineteenth-century existential philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, whom, in a way, I consider my first teacher. He posed the doctrine of the eternal recurrence, where
we hypothesize a reality in which everything in our life recurs again and again and again, in exactly the way we are living it now, throughout eternity.

Please note: this is a hypothetical position—we don't need to consider it as a true statement about reality. The point is, when
faced with a decision about how to live our life, can we make use of this doctrine by simply raising the question, “What would I do in this situation if I had to live my life in the exact same way, over and over and over again, throughout eternity?” This question can be disconcerting, because it will no doubt bring up many of our fears—such as our fear of failure, or our fear of the unfamiliar. It can also bring up our fear of living dishonestly, disconnected from our true self.

This question may sound similar to asking, “What would I do if I had one year, or one week, or one day, to live?” Actually, the two questions are quite different. If we thought we had a very short time to live, there would be fewer consequences to what we decided to do—we could quit our job, run off to Paris or Tahiti, spend all of our money, and so on. But with the question of eternal recurrence, the decision about what to do is all about recurring consequences—of repeating our exact behaviors and attitudes for eternity.

Answering this question is not just about making changes in our behavior. It's more about becoming who we truly are. When we take this question seriously, we are forced to look at ourselves with a penetrating honesty. We may also be forced to face the fears that hold us back from living from our true heart, because reflecting on the question of eternal recurrence will include actions
not
taken, the choices we avoid. When we ask the question, the remorse of an
unlived
life will gnaw at us. Through the struggle between the yes and the no—the yes (“I wish to live more honestly and awake”) and the no (“I want to resist”)—we're making the conscious effort to go against our fears and our deeply conditioned patterns. It is through this conscious effort that something transforms in our being.

In challenging our small mind—the mind based in complacency, entitlements, and fear—we are making a commitment to
living in the most authentic way. We are also opening the doorway to reality, where our true self is no longer just a vague concept. For example, when I started to think about writing this book, which is my sixth, many doubts and questions began to arise. Does the world really need another book? Do I really have something worthwhile to say? Will it be well received? The small mind had a field day feeding the voices of self-doubt. These were familiar voices, and I didn't really believe them, but they nonetheless had a toehold and caused me to hesitate. Asking the question of the eternal recurrence—“If I had to live my life over again an eternal number of times in the exact same way, would I write this book?”—allowed me to bypass the little mind of self-judgment. It reminded me that the point of writing wasn't to try to sound good or to receive praise, but instead to simply focus on the fact that there were things that I truly wanted to say, things that have been essential in my own practice. I also realized that I don't write just to articulate what I already know; I write to help uncover my genuine life. The question of the eternal recurrence reminded me to not play it safe or be defended but instead to try to live as authentically as possible.

For the question of the eternal recurrence to become real, and to help you to truly commit to your life, you have to actually raise the question, preferably in a specific situation. Think of a current area where you're trying to decide what to do, where you feel stuck or at your edge, and want to know how to move forward in your life. Now ask, “Would I want to deal with this, in this way, innumerable times more?” This is often not an easy question to answer. Moreover, you may not like the answer, because it may mean that you have to face something you don't want to face. For example, if your primary reason for staying in a relationship is because you fear being alone, once you ask whether you would truly want to live this life repeatedly in
the exact same way, the obvious answer of “No!” might be very frightening. But remember, to leave a situation like this would not just be about changing your behavior—it would push you to summon the courage to do the
exact
thing that you most needed to do to grow and to live most authentically, namely to face your loneliness. However, in some situations you may have to accept that in the moment, you just don't care whether or not you stay stuck. But ultimately, if you want to pursue practice honestly, that is, if you want to live your life most genuinely, this can be a very useful guideline.