True Identity

[This piece first appeared in my "A to Zen" column in the June/July 2015 edition of Unity Magazine, and is reproduced here with permission.]

Sometimes spiritual work is simple. We just make it complicated.

When we look at our hands we realize they are a part of us, that they accomplish remarkably deft tasks, but that we are so much more than just our hands. We use our hands, but we are not our hands.

So too when we examine our thoughts, we realize that we use them to accomplish remarkably deft things, but we are so much more than just our thoughts. We use our thoughts, but we are not our thoughts.

Once you realize that you are not your thoughts, you have begun to awaken.

As you witness yourself having a desire, a memory, or an emotion, you also realize that your ability to witness thoughts proves that you are something more than thoughts – you are their witness. This deep and abiding awareness beyond the thought stream goes by many names. In Zen Buddhism it is called your Original Self. In the Bhagavad Gita Krisha calls it the Inner Witness. Revealing and realizing our identity with this primary consciousness is the work of the world’s great spiritual traditions.

The twentieth century Vedanta teacher Ramana Maharshi used to lead his students into meditation around the question, “Who are you?” Contemporary teacher Adyashanti shifts the question slightly – “What are you?” Either way, meditation teachers in every tradition urge us past the surface definitions of self, clouded as they are by empty associations with tribe, ethnicity, gender, and socio-economic class. We all wear many labels. But when you remove all the labels, what remains?

The first century Buddhist philosopher Nagarjuna refers to the thought realm as “ordinary knowledge.” Ordinary knowledge is comprised of thoughts, concepts, rational sequences, and logical processes. The deeper realm of awareness he calls prajna, or “transcendent knowledge.”  Prajna is non-conceptual, intuitive, mystical awareness beyond the reach of conceptual thinking. Ordinary knowledge is of course highly useful and profoundly powerful. The entire realm of human accomplishment has its roots here. But prajna or transcendent knowledge is that vast boundlessness beneath the thought stream. When we consciously practice witnessing our thoughts, we move deeper and deeper into prajna.

This is why meditation is such an essential practice. Meditation is nothing more than allowing yourself to sink beneath the waves of the thought stream and enter the vast field of awareness of your authentic being – your true identity.

And as we move deeper into prajna, we are increasingly liberated from the limited and limiting thoughts, judgments, concepts, and opinions of ordinary knowledge. As the Zen saying goes, “Don’t seek enlightenment. Just get rid of all your opinions.”

 The ego is a concept like any other – useful but ultimately limited and provisional. Concepts like I, me, and mine are place holders, sign posts, or directional arrows. Like words on a theater marquis, they are not the movie, just its name. From the perspective of prajna, we are boundless awareness existing in a deep state of interconnectedness with all things. From the perspective of ordinary knowledge, we are a separate entity in conflict with everything else. The problem is this – most of us remain stuck in the realm of ordinary knowledge. We fall under the spell of the conceptual realm. Instead of seeing oneness we see multiplicity. We come to believe that concepts are real things. We forget that they are just shadows cast by cloud-thoughts flying through the sky of our endless awareness.

This is what makes transcending the ego so challenging – the ego fights for its existence with the tenacity of a honey badger. And its favorite weapon is its own perceived woundedness. In his book Grace and Grit philosopher Ken Wilber writes, “The ego…is kept in existence by a collection of emotional insults; it carries its personal bruises as the fabric of its very existence. It actively collects hurts and insults, even while resenting them, because without its bruises, it would be, literally, nothing.”

Notice how we use our perceived woundedness and victim status as glue to hold our fictional ego together. What if we let go our tired grievances? Who would we be without our resentments and self-righteousness? For many people, these questions are simply too frightening to consider. But the answer is simple. We would be free.

The Power of Silence

There is just so much noise.

We are limitless in our capacity to fill the silence with so much clutter that even God can no longer hear himself. If there is a God I mean. Why don’t we debate that again. That sounds fun.

Humans invented writing about 5,000 years ago. But we’ve been talking for far longer than that. No one knows when humans first formed words with our mouths. 50,000 years ago? 100,000 years ago? But one thing’s for sure – once we started, we never stopped. That’s a lot of chit chat.

It cannot be denied that language and its capacity to externalize thought has been a tremendously transformative development in human evolution. The art of language has in many ways unlocked the cage door and released us into wider and wider freedoms. Yet it is also true that words trap us in limited and limiting definitions, squeezing the uncarved whole of the experiential realm into lifeless categories and concepts. Language promises freedom, then becomes another prison. Words obscure as much as they reveal. The more we talk, the more we feel the essence of this mysterious existence slipping away.

From Concepts to Conflict

In many creation myths, primal man is given the task of naming the world. In Genesis 2 Adam gives names to all the animals. In the Mayan Popul Vuh, God goes through several iterations of proto-humans before he arrives at the final model, one that could finally remember and say his name. The ability to allot a word to every little thing in creation seems primary to the formation of human consciousness. But this great gift costs us something. By naming the world we also ascribe hierarchy, setting all things in opposition to each other. This is especially evident when we divide humanity into ethnicities, races, and tribes. These are of course useful concepts, to a point. But they too readily facilitate conflict. The words we call ourselves, and the words we call each other, like flags, set us into unavoidable strife. When we identify more with our tribe than with the whole of humanity, when we lose our capacity to empathize and see our unity, we descend into ethnocentrism, racism, hatred, genocide, and war.

Twentieth century teacher Jiddu Krishnamurti put it this way: “When you call yourself an Indian or a Muslim or a Christian or a European, or anything else, you are being violent. Do you see why this is violent? Because you are separating yourself from the rest of mankind. When you separate yourself by belief, by nationality, by tradition, it breeds violence. So a man who is seeking to understand violence does not belong to any country, to any religion, to any political party or partial system; he is concerned with the total understanding of mankind.”

It is in this same spirit that John Lennon sang, “Imagine there’s no countries, it isn’t hard to do, nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too.” Language, concepts, and categories kill.

The Illusion of Self

           

Once we cut the whole of the world into parts, we didn’t stop there – we turned the blade on ourselves. When human consciousness became conditioned to hierarchical multiplicity rather than unity, it’s only natural that self-awareness would calcify into ego, becoming the ruling monolith of our lives. Words like I, me, and mine create a fiction – a phantom of enormous power. As Spiderman reminds us, with great power comes great responsibility. But the ego has yet to embody that wisdom. Instead, the ego exerts most of its energy on self-preservation, self-aggrandizement, and criticism of others. It takes responsibility for nothing. If everybody else is wrong then I am, by default, right.

Everybody’s a critic. Emmet Fox wrote that, “Criticism is an indirect form of self-boasting.” By pointing out everything that’s wrong with everything and everyone around us, we construct solidity. We know who we are by knowing what we are against.

And then there’s our meticulous tallying of every perceived slight. In his book Grace and Grit philosopher Ken Wilber writes that, “The ego…is kept in existence by a collection of emotional insults; it carries its personal bruises as the fabric of its very existence. It actively collects hurts and insults, even while resenting them, because without its bruises, it would be, literally, nothing.”  It’s important to bring this process out of the shadows of unconsciousness and into the light. Notice how we use our perceived woundedness and victim status as glue to hold our fictional self together. What if we let go of our tired grievances? Who would we be without our resentments and self-righteousness? For many people, that question is simply too frightening to consider. But the answer is simple. We would be free.

The Power of Silence

           

            There is an alternative to this madness. And it is nearer to us than our jugular vein.

            The first thing we need to do is stop. Just stop.

            Stop clothing every experience, every passing impression, every iota of awareness in language. You don’t have to name everything. You don’t have to reduce every dynamic and nuanced experience to a concept. You don’t have to compare and judge everything on some arbitrary and self-serving hierarchical scale. Let it be. Learn to be still. There is a Zen Buddhist saying: “Don’t seek enlightenment. Just get rid of all your opinions.”

            Meditation is a good idea. By practicing the art of silence and no-thinking, we learn to slip beneath the waves of our incessant thought stream and descend into the depths of our own stillness. Each of us carries an infinite boundlessness within us. It goes by various names in the world’s many wisdom traditions – Atman, Buddha-consciousness, the Kingdom of Heaven. But they all agree. It is not somewhere out there. It is within us.

            It is what we are.

            We do not have to struggle to become something different. We have only to let fall away the hindrances that inhibit our awareness of our primal oneness. “God is not attained by a process of addition to the soul,” wrote 13^th century Christian mystic Meister Eckhart, “but by a process of subtraction.” What we must subtract is the busy mind and its addiction to language and concepts. What we do is so much more important than what we think. Who we are is so much more important that what we say. Instead of delivering a learned treatise on theology or arguing yet again with the Pharisees and Sadducees, Jesus knelt and washed feet.

            And didn’t say a word.

Intention vs. Attachment

It’s important to have goals. How can you build or create anything without first envisioning it, imagining it, wanting it?

Yet clinging too tightly to a specific outcome is destructive to the living, breathing evolutionary process that any real growth entails. How can we make peace with this paradox? How can we simultaneously hold fast while letting go?

An essential quality of wisdom is the ability to discern between intention and attachment.

Intention is a powerful condition of consciousness, a thought-action that reverberates out into the surrounding field re-ordering the elements of the field. Like radio waves, intention travels unseen at the speed of light, bending around corners and influencing the fabric of space and time. Our intentions draw things toward us the way magnets attract and align iron filings. In true intention there is no attachment to any particular outcome – that would be hubris and ultimately destructive to our aims. We simply set intentions, take the next indicated step and let go.

Attachment, on the other hand, is a pathological, egoic, fear-based need to control the people, situations and events in the world around us. Imposing our private preferences on the uncarved whole of the world robs life of its spontaneous, evolutionary energy. Our short-sighted craving places limits on the unlimited potential of the now moment – limits that ultimately restrict the flow of the universe’s infinite abundance into our lives. It’s a terrible irony – by craving we push everything away.

Intention is a state of deep receptivity. Attachment is an impenetrable shell.

Intention is a state of deep cooperation with what is. Attachment is a futile struggle against what is, characterized by resentment, fear and victim-consciousness.

Intention roots deep in the consciousness of gratitude and savors the journey. Attachment is a childish sense of entitlement fueled by grandiose fantasies and fixation on selfish and arbitrarily contrived expectations.

So how do we put this into practice?

Let’s start with a vision. If money were no object, and if the path was wide open, what would you be doing with your life? In other words, if the how were taken care of, what would you be? It’s vitally important to separate the how from the what because once you really commit in full intention to the what, the how takes care of itself. Intention is an aligning energy that orders the surrounding field. Fixating on the how – the logistical complexity and all the hurdles – draws precious energy and resources away from the womb of intention, the great Mother that gives birth to the what.

So you want to be a large animal veterinarian, or a professional musician, or publish a book, or create a non-profit service organization, or work to reverse environmental degradation, or write the next great app. How do you begin?

Let’s talk about farming.

A farmer intends to raise a crop of tomatoes. But she knows she doesn’t really control the process. She merely cuts the channel through which the power of life flows, fully aware that she is not the source of the power. Her stance is one of deep cooperation, not imposition.

It begins with the end in mind – a vision of a bountiful yield. Then comes all the hard work – learning everything you can about every aspect of your endeavor, preparing the soil, finding the right seeds, putting the right kind of team together, co-creating the best possible conditions in which your seeds can unfold from the core of their essential nature, willingly and reverently sacrificing your time, talent and treasure in the singular focus of your aim, all the while knowing that anything and everything could change, and at any given moment you might have to start dancing.

Then you wait.

Remember, you are as much witnessing this process as creating it. A state of deep humility is far more productive than arrogance. We don’t control the weather – the frost, the rain, the heat, the drought – nor do we control the caterpillars or the blackbirds that come and pluck the caterpillars away. We do everything we can to prepare for all likely situations, but in the end our only sane stance is complete and utter surrender. When our fists are clenched we feel only our own fingernails digging into our palms. When our hands are open we feel the sun and the moon and the wind and we are more readily able to receive what is given. And when the harvest is ready, a budding joy comes to fruition along with our tomatoes because there is nothing more satisfying than aligning our energies with the larger forces around us.

This is the great paradox – it is only through surrender that we grow strong, it is only through generosity that we receive everything we need, it is only by emptying out that we become full, it is only by letting go of our slavish attachment to a particular outcome that the highest possible good is able to manifest itself in our lives. Yet there must be intention and clarity of vision. Cooperating with what is already unfolding is different than sitting back and waiting for something to happen. The first requires a state of great alertness. The second looks a lot like napping.

When we fail to discern the difference between intention and attachment, two confusions emerge. The first confusion is the mistaken belief that intention and attachment are the same – that intention is just a fancy word for self-centered craving and hence is to be avoided. People who hold this mistaken view tend to hide from the world, hide their own light, shun success and see ambition as a dirty word. They distrust powerfully creative people while secretly envying them. They bad-mouth the trappings of success and cop an attitude of smug superiority to ward off the chill of their own poverty of spirit.

The second confusion is the mistaken belief that self-seeking and clawing your way to the top is the highest good. Here the line between healthy growth and selfish craving is blurred. The empty pursuit of fame, wealth and glory may result in an accumulation of the outward trappings of success, but the hole inside is never filled. In both of these mistaken approaches, our authentic joy is never realized.

That’s why discerning the difference between intention and attachment is so important. It may be the most important thing of all. Otherwise, all our work is muddled and confused, lost in the dark and far away from the light of the truth that our deepest joy is inexorably intertwined with the joy of others, and only when we work in the consciousness of service are we liberated from cage of our own ego.

Have a vision. Feel deeply where your heart wants to go, and cultivate the courage to follow. Be truthful, have clarity and be specific. But keep a loose hold on the reins and let the road show you where to go. The end is secured by the confidence of the intention. Attachment, on the other hand, constricts the flow and leads only to stagnation. Stay open and highly alert. Perception and awareness are more important than cleverness and guile. Answer the call of your soul – begin now to do the important work of discerning the difference between intention and attachment.

Lance Armstrong's Gift

When Lance Armstrong sat down with Oprah Winfrey last month to confess his sins he gave us all a gift.  It was a portrait held fast by yellow Live Strong wrist bands and wrapped in the tattered flags of fame – a portrait of what avarice, greed, and self-obsession can do to a magnificent life.   A powerful cautionary tale, Armstrong’s precipitous fall from grace holds a mirror to our own lives.  We may not like what we see.

         2012 was a bad year for Lance Armstrong.  Stripped of all his hard won cycling victories, including his unprecedented seven Tour de France titles and banned from professional cycling for life, Armstrong seemed to have come to the end of his road as the sport’s most prolific master.  In the face of all evidence and testimony Armstrong fought tenaciously for his innocence.  But the old fighter finally ran out of fight. 

           Over two nights in January Armstrong admitted to Oprah on worldwide television that he had indeed used a wide variety of performance enhancing drugs during his entire career as a professional cyclist.  Every one of his Tour de France victories was earned under the influence.

         If he were just a substance abuser, or a cheater, that would be one thing.  But the worst part is the way he went after everyone who crossed him.  In his maniacal campaign to hide the truth he sued and bullied anyone who even remotely threatened his clapboard empire – former coaches, trainers, team members and friends.  Careers were destroyed, relationships severed, families bankrupted and reputations ruined – all to keep the lie intact.

         Armstrong has his fans.  His accomplishments are truly impressive in spite of his flaws.  Considering the high probability that nearly all of his competitors were also doping, Armstrong’s dominance of the sport is truly historic – one for the ages were it not for the fact that his name has been expunged from all cycling records as if he had never existed.  But he is real, and won’t easily be forgotten, especially when you consider his philanthropic work.

         In 1996 Armstrong was diagnosed with testicular cancer.  It spread to his lungs and brain.  After a vigorous round of chemotherapy and testicular surgery he was declared cancer free in 1997, becoming a powerful role model for cancer survivors everywhere.  The Lance Armstrong Foundation, later known as Live Strong, attracted millions of dollars in charitable donations and served the needs of cancer survivors and their families around the world.  It’s hard not to cheer for people who overcome great obstacles, fight their way to victory and use their platform to promote the good of others.

         That’s what makes Armstrong’s fall from grace so painful. 

         When public meltdowns like this come along – this isn’t the first and it won’t be the last – we’re offered an important opportunity for self-examination where the most vexing paradoxes of the human psyche are laid bare.  How can someone so powerful be so weak?  How can someone so disciplined be so impulsive?  How can someone so calculating be so capricious?  And most importantly, what can we learn from Armstrong’s mistakes?

         There is nothing wrong with wanting to be more.  There is nothing wrong with going big, playing hard, and wanting to win.  Ambition, in and of itself, is not evil.  But without careful introspection into one’s motives, the path to mastery is fraught with danger.

         The urge to grow and expand is built into the very fabric of life itself.  To be alive is to continually emerge.  It is in our nature to swim through the circumstances and challenges of our lives seeking something better and becoming stronger in the process. 

         Sports make a game out of this primal impulse.  It is deeply satisfying to test one’s mettle against others in seemingly arbitrary contests of wit and strength.  Put a ball through a hoop.  Run around a lawn touching all four bases.  Race bicycles through the hills of France.  It isn’t the particulars that matter, it’s the universals.  We live vicariously through our athlete-heroes because they play out for us in grand fashion this deep and defining primal drama.

         We bring this same set of impulses to any human endeavor – the arts, music, business, even love.  The hunger for more drives us like a lash.  The hunger itself is neither good nor bad.  It’s the consciousness we bring to the game that determines its morality.

         In a revealing moment of honesty, Armstrong told Oprah that he “needed to control every outcome.”  It wasn’t enough to compete and test his skill against other cycling masters.  He only wanted to play if winning was guaranteed.  And he was willing to do anything to win, even sacrifice his own joy. 

         At one point Oprah asked him, “Did you enjoy winning?”

         He didn’t answer.  Instead he said, “I enjoyed the process.”  Learning to discern the difference between the joys of the process and the pathology of outcome-obsession is a journey Armstrong is only now beginning to take.

         No matter how far you make it in any field, there is always someone farther along, deeper inside or higher up.  The restlessness and dissatisfaction that fueled you as a starving actor still haunts you as you accept your first Oscar because so and so has two, or three, or a lifetime achievement award.  A San Diego Music Award is not a Grammy, and a Grammy is not the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  It never ends.  For Armstrong, winning an unprecedented seven Tour de France titles was a hollow experience.  A million wouldn’t be enough.

         Like Darth Vader, Gollum and Midas, Armstrong was eaten from the inside by his own malice. He became a monster.  His hubris eclipsed his humanity.  Yet when the moon is eclipsed by the earth’s shadow it doesn’t stop being the moon.  Shadows move.  There is always hope for redemption. 

         In the race for Armstrong’s soul, his steepest climbs lay ahead of him.

         In our own lives, do we want to be the best to fill some perceived deficiency? Or do we simply want to honor what is growing and emerging through us, and experience our gift as an opportunity to serve in a joyful spirit of generosity and celebration?  Is it more fun to win at all costs, or playfully compete with integrity, honor and mutual respect?

         Lance Armstrong tried to run the entire universe.  His fear and craving told him that the only way to survive this wild and wonderful life was by turning everything into a battle, everyone into an enemy and every joy into a conflict.  His discipline, power and mastery, even his compassion and willingness to serve, were all subverted by self-obsession and pathological craving. 

            In our own lives, we have to find a way to balance ambition with service, ego with selflessness, excellence with humility and effort with effortlessness.  It is not wrong to want to be more.  Honor that which is emerging through you by cultivating the courage to express your own greatness in a way that honors your authentic nature without diminishing the greatness of others.  Know that the light within you does not belong to you – it belongs to all of us.  It is a sacred treasure, not private property.  It is a gift that only shines in the giving.   Although a gifted athlete and generous philanthropist, the lessons of this tragedy are perhaps Lance Armstrong’s greatest gift.