by Joan Tollifson
One night in Chicago, I turned on the TV and happened upon
a pre-Olympic women's figure skating competition. Michelle Kwan, who won the
gold medal that night, smiled as she skated, gliding through the air in utter
bliss. She was in the zone, as they say. She seemed completely and utterly at
ease as she twirled, leapt and spun around like a Sufi dervish. Her body
performed amazing feats, but she made it look effortless. To skate like that,
you have to abandon yourself completely. There is no way to "do" it.
You have to completely let go.
Part of the beauty of it is the possibility of failure. It
is held in absolute vulnerability. For every winner, there is a loser. There is
the young woman who falls during a triple twirl, her dreams shattered in one
second.
A year or so later, I was watching the women's figure
skating competition at the winter Olympics. A sixteen-year-old girl named Sarah
Hughes gave one of the most remarkable performances ever. Sarah was in the zone.
And this time, Michelle obviously wasn't. Sarah won the gold medal.
Sarah had no fear of losing, since she was in fourth place
and had no real hope of winning, so she skated "for fun," she said.
She was clearly mind-blown by her own performance, and being sixteen years old,
she was totally out there with her surprise. She kept saying over and over to
her trainer, "Wow! I never skated like that in my life! Wow!"
That's the zone. It is never a permanent state.
Once we know "the zone" is possible, there is, of
course, the urge to repeat it, especially when the whole world is watching and
so much seems to be at stake. And yet it can't be willed into existence,
because it is precisely the opposite kind of thing: a surrendering of all
control. Words never quite catch it, since the necessary surrender in the case
of these skaters also requires phenomenal precision, concentration, skill,
discipline, rigorous training, presence and energy.
Any attachment to results is clearly problematic. Sarah
Hughes thought she had nothing to lose; Michelle Kwan thought she had everything
to lose. In the quest for enlightenment, the attachment to results is again the
obstacle, and yet such attachment cannot be willed out of existence. It can only
be seen through every time it arises. In fact, the very notion of enlightenment
is the biggest obstacle, for it creates the illusion of a future attainment.
In the quest for enlightenment, we imagine that the
"goal" is to be "in the zone" all the time. But if anything,
it's more about seeing the fleeting, insubstantial, dream-like and impersonal
nature of everything – winning, falling on our ass, being in the zone, being
out of the zone – and resting as that which includes and transcends all
duality.
And what is that? Is it something terribly mysterious and
far away? Or is it the most obvious "thing" of all: bare being,
present awareness?
And is this awareness a particular experiential
state of mind, or is it the unbroken wholeness that includes and transcends all
states of mind?
Enlightenment is not about having a sustained experience
of any kind, or being in a state of uninterrupted mindfulness twenty-four hours
a day. It isn't an achievement. It isn't personal. And yet, this is precisely
how the mind imagines it. The mind is forever at the Spiritual Olympic Games,
looking for the Gold Medal Realization. And for every winner in such a
competition, there has to be a loser: hungry seekers gathered at the feet of
mythologized finders.
The finish line exists only in the thought-generated
mirage. Bare being is always free and complete. Even when the mirage appears,
there is really no-thing there! The only "problem" is that
there is some idea that "you" (a mirage!) need to be liberated from
mirages. It's like trying to save a movie character from the movie! Joan does
not wake up from the illusion of Joan; that would be absurd! There is no one real
to be saved! The dream characters do not get enlightened because they have no
separate, permanent, real existence, except in the mind. The one who thinks
she is having the mirage is part of the mirage!
The dream character is not the dreamer; she's the dream.
It's a lingering confusion of identity. It's like those people who come to
Nisargadatta and say, "I see there is nothing at all. Now what do I
do?"
How quickly the mind reasserts itself!
"Am I really here yet? Is this it? Is there more? What
do I do now? Am I done?"
Absurd questions. Funny. Makes me laugh every time when the
bubble breaks.
Awareness has no problems, no sense of lack. It is only the
character we take ourselves to be who feels inadequate and frustrated, who seeks
something better like "enlightenment." The truth cannot be found or
seen in the way that you can find or see your car. Because you are not outside
of it. It is not an object. It is not somewhere else. Simply see the illusory
nature of the separation. See that the entire story, the main character, and all
the ideas of what should or should not be, are made up. You are awareness
itself, totally free, always present.
Even if the story comes back, even if there is
identification with the character, even if there are old habits and upsetting
emotions, even if the bodymind contracts in fear, awareness is unharmed in any
way. The only damage is in the story. It's make-believe, like the fire in
the movie. If the false keeps arising, who cares? Only the false.
All of it is the play of Consciousness.
Enlightenment is not a one-time event that transforms "you" into a
spiritual superstar. It's this, right here, right now: the sensations of
acid indigestion, the screech of brakes, the faint aroma of someone cooking lamb
chops down the hall, the direct experiencing of anger or hurt. Nothing at all!
Not exactly what the seeker had in mind!
Excerpt from Awake in the Heartland, pp
110-112
By Joan Tollifson
Published by Trafford
© 2003 Joan Tollifson
Electronically reproduced on Lotus and
Rose by permission.
