Astrall
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(continuation)
I am often asked: what did I feel when enlightenment occurred?
I laughed. I laughed from the bottom of my heart, because I realized the complete meaninglessness of the thirst for enlightenment. It is truly funny, because we are all born enlightened, and to desire that which already exists is completely pointless. If you have something, it can no longer be acquired. You can only acquire what you do not have or what is not within you. But enlightenment is in our nature.
I fought for it over many lifetimes, because this goal cannot be achieved in a single life. During that time, I did everything humanly possible, but invariably failed. I was doomed to fail, because enlightenment cannot be achieved. How can one acquire it if it is already in your nature? You cannot create with an ambitious dream that which you already possess.
The mind is ambitious; it reaches for money, power, and prestige. But one fine day, when it has had its fill of external activity, it begins to be lured by enlightenment, liberation, nirvana, God. But this is still the same ambition; only the goal has changed. Before, the goal was outside; now it is inside. But your attitude, your very approach does not change in the least—you remain the same person with the same habits.
The words "the day I achieved enlightenment" mean only one thing: on that day, I understood that there was nothing to achieve, nowhere to go, and no need to do anything. We are already divine, we are already perfect—that is all. No own improvement is necessary. God creates us all perfect. Even if we encounter imperfect people, it is easy to notice how perfect their imperfection is. God never creates something imperfect.
I heard a story about a Zen teacher named Bokuju. He was explaining to his students that everything in our world is perfect, and then one man stood up, an old hunchback. "What about me?" he asked. "I am a hunchback! Is this perfection?" And Bokuju replied: "To be honest, I have never before seen such a perfect hump."
When I speak of the day I achieved enlightenment, I speak incorrectly, because no other words can be found in our language, for this language was invented by man. It contains words such as "achievement," "acquisition," "goal," "improvement," "development," "progress." Language was not invented by the enlightened. To be honest, they would not have been able to invent any language even if they wanted to, because enlightenment comes in silence. How can you express silence with words? No matter how you try, any words inevitably violate the stillness.
Lao Tzu says: "The truth that can be spoken is a lie." Truth cannot be expressed in words. But we must speak some language; there is no other way. And therefore, we always emphasize one condition: language cannot accurately reflect experiences. That is why I say: "on the day I achieved enlightenment." But it was not an achievement, and that was not me.
On that day, I laughed at my own foolish, ridiculous attempts to acquire enlightenment. I laughed at myself and at humanity, because all people strive to achieve something, to acquire something, to improve something.
It all happened in a state of complete relaxation. That is how it always happens. I had tried everything possible, and then, seeing the futility of any effort, I gave up my attempts. I forgot about my dream. For an entire week, I lived a completely ordinary life.
The people I was staying with were very surprised because for the first time, I began to lead a normal way of life. Before that, my entire life had been subject to severe discipline.
I lived in that family for two years, and they knew that I woke up at three in the morning, then took a four-to-five mile walk or run, then went to bathe in the river. Such was my regime. A cold or other ailment—none of it mattered; I followed my daily routine regardless.
They knew that I spent long hours in meditation. Up until that day, there were many things I did not eat. I drank neither tea nor coffee. I had strict rules about what I could and could not eat. And suddenly, for a whole week, I abandoned all of it. One morning, I slept until nine o'clock, and then drank a cup of tea. The hosts of the house were puzzled. They asked: "What happened? Are you sick?" They had always considered me a great yogi.
Here is one detail that shows how it was. For all occasions, I had one single piece of cloth. During the day, I walked wrapped in it, and at night, I covered myself with it like a blanket. I slept on a bamboo mat. Those were all my comforts—a blanket and a bamboo mat. I had nothing else, no possessions. That morning, when I woke up at nine, the hosts were very surprised. They said: "Something is wrong here. You must be very sick?"
"No, I am not sick," I replied. "I was sick all those years, and now, on the contrary, I have recovered. From now on, I will wake up when I want to, and go to sleep when I start feeling sleepy. I have ceased to be a slave to time. And also, I will eat and drink whatever my body desires. I've had enough." During that week, I completely forgot about my dream of enlightenment. I forgot it forever.
And on the seventh day, it happened. By itself, without any reason. I burst out laughing, and the gardener heard this laughter. He had previously thought that I was a bit unstable, but he had never heard such laughter before. He ran to me and asked: "What happened?"
"Don't worry," I replied. "You know I have always been slightly touched, and now I have simply finally gone mad. I am laughing at myself. Do not be offended or angry. You may go back to sleep peacefully." * * *
I labored over many lifetimes—worked on myself, struggled, did everything that could possibly be done, but all in vain. Now I understand why nothing worked. The efforts themselves became the barrier; the ladder itself prevented the ascent; the very desire to achieve was an obstacle. This does not mean that it can be achieved without searching—no, searching is necessary, but sooner or later a moment comes when it should be stopped. To cross a river, you need a boat, but sooner or later the time comes to get out of the boat, forget about the river, and leave it behind. Effort is needed; without effort, nothing will happen at all. But efforts alone bear no fruit.
Just before March 21, 1953, literally a week before that day, I stopped working on myself. The moment arrived when you clearly see the complete futility of your efforts. You have already done everything possible, but nothing has brought success. You have done everything within human power. What else remains? In this total hopelessness, you abandon all attempts. And on the day I ceased my search, when I stopped striving for something and stopped hoping for anything at all—on that very day, it began. A new energy came from nowhere. It had no source. It came from nowhere and spread everywhere. It was in the trees, stones, sky, sun, and air—everywhere. I searched for so long; I thought the goal was somewhere far away—but it was all so close, right here! I directed my gaze into the distance, beyond the horizon, and my eyes stopped noticing what was near.....
I am often asked: what did I feel when enlightenment occurred?
I laughed. I laughed from the bottom of my heart, because I realized the complete meaninglessness of the thirst for enlightenment. It is truly funny, because we are all born enlightened, and to desire that which already exists is completely pointless. If you have something, it can no longer be acquired. You can only acquire what you do not have or what is not within you. But enlightenment is in our nature.
I fought for it over many lifetimes, because this goal cannot be achieved in a single life. During that time, I did everything humanly possible, but invariably failed. I was doomed to fail, because enlightenment cannot be achieved. How can one acquire it if it is already in your nature? You cannot create with an ambitious dream that which you already possess.
The mind is ambitious; it reaches for money, power, and prestige. But one fine day, when it has had its fill of external activity, it begins to be lured by enlightenment, liberation, nirvana, God. But this is still the same ambition; only the goal has changed. Before, the goal was outside; now it is inside. But your attitude, your very approach does not change in the least—you remain the same person with the same habits.
The words "the day I achieved enlightenment" mean only one thing: on that day, I understood that there was nothing to achieve, nowhere to go, and no need to do anything. We are already divine, we are already perfect—that is all. No own improvement is necessary. God creates us all perfect. Even if we encounter imperfect people, it is easy to notice how perfect their imperfection is. God never creates something imperfect.
I heard a story about a Zen teacher named Bokuju. He was explaining to his students that everything in our world is perfect, and then one man stood up, an old hunchback. "What about me?" he asked. "I am a hunchback! Is this perfection?" And Bokuju replied: "To be honest, I have never before seen such a perfect hump."
When I speak of the day I achieved enlightenment, I speak incorrectly, because no other words can be found in our language, for this language was invented by man. It contains words such as "achievement," "acquisition," "goal," "improvement," "development," "progress." Language was not invented by the enlightened. To be honest, they would not have been able to invent any language even if they wanted to, because enlightenment comes in silence. How can you express silence with words? No matter how you try, any words inevitably violate the stillness.
Lao Tzu says: "The truth that can be spoken is a lie." Truth cannot be expressed in words. But we must speak some language; there is no other way. And therefore, we always emphasize one condition: language cannot accurately reflect experiences. That is why I say: "on the day I achieved enlightenment." But it was not an achievement, and that was not me.
On that day, I laughed at my own foolish, ridiculous attempts to acquire enlightenment. I laughed at myself and at humanity, because all people strive to achieve something, to acquire something, to improve something.
It all happened in a state of complete relaxation. That is how it always happens. I had tried everything possible, and then, seeing the futility of any effort, I gave up my attempts. I forgot about my dream. For an entire week, I lived a completely ordinary life.
The people I was staying with were very surprised because for the first time, I began to lead a normal way of life. Before that, my entire life had been subject to severe discipline.
I lived in that family for two years, and they knew that I woke up at three in the morning, then took a four-to-five mile walk or run, then went to bathe in the river. Such was my regime. A cold or other ailment—none of it mattered; I followed my daily routine regardless.
They knew that I spent long hours in meditation. Up until that day, there were many things I did not eat. I drank neither tea nor coffee. I had strict rules about what I could and could not eat. And suddenly, for a whole week, I abandoned all of it. One morning, I slept until nine o'clock, and then drank a cup of tea. The hosts of the house were puzzled. They asked: "What happened? Are you sick?" They had always considered me a great yogi.
Here is one detail that shows how it was. For all occasions, I had one single piece of cloth. During the day, I walked wrapped in it, and at night, I covered myself with it like a blanket. I slept on a bamboo mat. Those were all my comforts—a blanket and a bamboo mat. I had nothing else, no possessions. That morning, when I woke up at nine, the hosts were very surprised. They said: "Something is wrong here. You must be very sick?"
"No, I am not sick," I replied. "I was sick all those years, and now, on the contrary, I have recovered. From now on, I will wake up when I want to, and go to sleep when I start feeling sleepy. I have ceased to be a slave to time. And also, I will eat and drink whatever my body desires. I've had enough." During that week, I completely forgot about my dream of enlightenment. I forgot it forever.
And on the seventh day, it happened. By itself, without any reason. I burst out laughing, and the gardener heard this laughter. He had previously thought that I was a bit unstable, but he had never heard such laughter before. He ran to me and asked: "What happened?"
"Don't worry," I replied. "You know I have always been slightly touched, and now I have simply finally gone mad. I am laughing at myself. Do not be offended or angry. You may go back to sleep peacefully." * * *
I labored over many lifetimes—worked on myself, struggled, did everything that could possibly be done, but all in vain. Now I understand why nothing worked. The efforts themselves became the barrier; the ladder itself prevented the ascent; the very desire to achieve was an obstacle. This does not mean that it can be achieved without searching—no, searching is necessary, but sooner or later a moment comes when it should be stopped. To cross a river, you need a boat, but sooner or later the time comes to get out of the boat, forget about the river, and leave it behind. Effort is needed; without effort, nothing will happen at all. But efforts alone bear no fruit.
Just before March 21, 1953, literally a week before that day, I stopped working on myself. The moment arrived when you clearly see the complete futility of your efforts. You have already done everything possible, but nothing has brought success. You have done everything within human power. What else remains? In this total hopelessness, you abandon all attempts. And on the day I ceased my search, when I stopped striving for something and stopped hoping for anything at all—on that very day, it began. A new energy came from nowhere. It had no source. It came from nowhere and spread everywhere. It was in the trees, stones, sky, sun, and air—everywhere. I searched for so long; I thought the goal was somewhere far away—but it was all so close, right here! I directed my gaze into the distance, beyond the horizon, and my eyes stopped noticing what was near.....