The Gate

[Only one post today, but it’s a long one . . . ]

I get the message (I think):
It's ALL okay. Even feeling like it's NOT okay is okay. Being frustrated is okay. Even seeking, even if it's misguided, is okay. This is it, ALL of it.

What is you're reaction when i ask "What impact does this generate?

Some impish little voice popped up to propose that my reaction might be “So what?” But that doesn’t even make sense.

I’m puzzling over whether I should make anything of the fact that you didn’t just ask about the impact of this but about my reaction to your asking about the impact. I’m probably making too much of that, but:

My reaction to your asking:
I’m glad you asked. It’s an interesting question and just the sort of question I expect here.
It gives me something to ponder and spend some time with.
And that’s a pacifier for the mind, letting it feel like it’s DOing something regarding awakening, whether it actually is or not.

The impact generated by my mini-homily or dharma talk to myself that it’s all OK:
Hmm . . .
A wee bit of spaciousness? Maybe a bit of relaxation or release?
Um . . .
Oh, I guess it’s noteworthy that the impact is NOT, “Oh, how I wish I could actually see that for myself!” or “Why can’t I see it yet?!”
Let me read it again . . .
Yeah, I’m trying to let myself settle into this perspective or attitude or whatever you want to call it: that it’s all okay, that even feeling like things aren’t okay is okay, that it’s all THIS.
Reminding myself that “This is it” or “It’s all okay” does, at least sometimes, feel like it helps me settle into that. (I was about to add a “supposedly” to that last sentence, before “This is it,” but it didn’t feel warranted.)
Slight opening of chest. Slight relaxation of shoulders. Mind gets a touch quieter and more attentive to direct sense data.

I kept thinking of you throughout this mornings meeting, thinking/feeling that so much of it is relevant for K.
I'll email the link to you.. (respond here)

First thing that grabbed me: Around 31:00, you asked someone whether it had occurred to her that what she has now she owes to her hard past. And she repeatedly said “Of course” and said she was “in love with” every moment of the struggle she went through and so “appreciative” of it. This is great news to me. I’ve heard this sort of thing just enough times now that I trust that it’s part of the deal.

I did not have a horrendous childhood like she did. I’ve had what, from the outside, looks like a decent, privileged kind of life, with just some ordinary challenges. But I’ve spent about forty years now being all too aware of duhkha, that is, swimming in awareness that life not only isn’t satisfactory but can’t possibly be satisfactory to the “self.” Plus, I only recently realized how much I’ve struggled from being neurodivergent in a world catering to the neurotypical. (And here come the tears.) It was less than five years ago that I definitively realized that I’m on the autism spectrum and realized how much trouble that has caused me with the really basic stuff — relationships and work — especially because I hadn’t identified it and didn’t know how to work with it.

Anyway, for a long time, I’ve felt like, even if I were to find some peace and joy in life, I didn’t know how I would ever be able to forgive reality for my decades of feeling, for part of nearly every day, like I’m being tortured. But apparently, in a way that I don’t understand at all but do now trust, people can end up feeling not only okay with the suffering they’ve gone through but actually grateful for it. Wow!

But the K of those many years — I still don’t get it. How could it be all okay for her? Like, her experience gets rewritten somehow? Are we gaslighting her? It feels like that was a LOT of someone’s suffering that someone else will be deeming “okay.”

But, yeah, for now, I’m going to try to just trust and hope that it’s really all okay and that time and selves and suffering don’t work the way I’ve always thought they do. I have been known to make the case that it makes sense to pray for our past selves, since God is outside of time. So maybe something like that.

Overdue to start my work day. Done with editing project, thank goodness, but need to start catching up on stuff for my class. Brain throwing temper tantrum. Not exactly feeling like it’s okay to not feel okay, but at least I have a little distance on the tantrum.

***********************

Back to the recording of meeting: I watched the rest of it. One other thing that especially caught my attention was about helping people to wake up. And I noticed I really didn’t want to hear about how it just happens as it happens (as everything does). I want someone — well, probably you — to encourage it to happen! Soon! Even if that makes no sense.

[Feel free to groan or laugh at me for making a second post, another long one no less, before you’ve replied to the first one, despite my decision to avoid doing this. At least it’s the middle of the night where you are, so I presume you’re fast asleep and will be for a long time yet, so at least our posts won’t “cross in the mail.”]

Rereading my last post, the brain started to form a thought like, “Hmm, this could be a place of resistance to awakening.”

I was saying that I’ve wondered if I’d ever be able to forgive reality for my decades of feeling tortured.

Oh, and maybe this connects with a comment I made a while back (and said I actually hoped you wouldn’t follow up on), that I was having trouble with the theme in another recording about just allowing others to feel sad and that I don’t want to forget about how horrible suffering can be and don’t want to ever dismiss or diminish others’ suffering. And I’ve wondered — and I wondered again while watching the recording you just sent — why all the “awake” people aren’t engaged in possibly challenging, unpleasant, and even risky activities to help prevent, reduce, or alleviate others’ worldly suffering, either that or doing everything they can to help other people wake up, which is what I see you doing and which is what I think I’d be more useful for (and am more useful for already, in my little way, through the classes I teach on Zen).

I had a negative reaction to hearing the person talking about her nice house and garden and having all the things she’d ever wanted. I mean, I’m genuinely glad for her, especially after her having abusive parents, bad relationships, etc., but, like, is that where this ends up, with being happy with your cozy little life, despite all the misery in the world? (I’ve spent most of my adult life hanging out with social-justice-oriented folks, mostly liberal Christians, and it’s clearly rubbed off.) Of course, for all I know, she spends her days helping refugees or fighting for better environmental legislation or something. But anyway, the main point is about not wanting to ignore all the suffering in the world.

(And now I’m thinking of something I said to my spouse just the other day: If everyone were just kinder to the people they interact with the most, wouldn’t that be excellent and eliminate a whole lot of the suffering in the world?)

OK, but coming back around to where I started: Rereading my last post, I wondered if I have qualms about awakening, that I’m concerned it might lead me to somehow disregard K’s decades of suffering. And I’m starting to cry now, so, yes, this is what this is about, even though I don’t actually think I do have qualms. Of course, there’s no use in wallowing in past suffering, but . . . I don’t know. I really wish I could go back in time and alleviate her suffering. It feels offensive and even morally wrong to somehow deem her suffering okay or even something to be grateful for. (More crying.)

I think about how some people apparently need to get over blocks to awakening like worrying that it will mess up their relationships or that they won’t be able to do their job anymore. I don’t have those worries. And whatever it is I’m articulating here seems . . . I dunno, rather abstract or something? I’m worried I’ll disregard K’s past suffering? Does that even make sense? And maybe some part of me is trying to make that sound less abstract by connecting it with about worries about disregarding others’ current suffering? But I’m not sure I’m really all that selfless.

Oh, huh, note my choice of a subject line for my LU thread: “realizing selflessness.” In explaining Zen, I use the word “selflessness” to encompass two related concepts: no-self and its more ordinary meaning of helping others.

OK, I’ve worn myself out for now (you might be relieved to know).

Yeah, I’m trying to let myself settle into this perspective or attitude or whatever you want to call it: that it’s all okay, that even feeling like things aren’t okay is okay, that it’s all THIS.

Yes. This is important.

“It’s all okay” does not mean “the suffering was good.”

It does not mean:

K should have suffered.
K’s suffering was justified.
K should be grateful for it.
Other people’s suffering should be minimized.
Awake people become indifferent to pain in the world.

No.

That would be spiritual gaslighting.

“It’s all okay” means: this too is included in what is here.

Right now, what is here?

Memory of decades of suffering.
Tears.
Tenderness toward younger K.
Moral protest.
Anger at reality.
Fear that awakening might erase compassion.
A wish to go back and help her.
A thought that this might be a block.
A thought that it might be morally wrong to call it okay.

All of that is this.

Don’t make any of it wrong.

The knot seems to be:

“If I say it’s all okay, then I’m betraying the one who suffered.”

Look there gently.

That is not stupid. That is love. That is loyalty. That is the organism refusing to abandon its own pain.

But now inspect the structure.

Where is the past K, right now?

Not denying she existed conventionally. Not denying what happened. But in actual present experience, where is she?

Memory-images.
Thoughts.
Body ache.
Tears.
Protective feeling.
Story.
Love.
Grief.

And where is the current one who could betray her?

Again: thought, sensation, image, moral intensity, tears.

No betrayer is found.

No one is being asked to sign a document saying, “The suffering was fine.”

What is being invited is much simpler:

Stop fighting the fact that it happened.

Not approve.
Not celebrate.
Not spiritualize.
Not explain.
Not forgive reality on command.

Just: it happened.

And the grief about it is happening now.

This is it.

That is very different from “be grateful for your suffering.”

Gratitude may come for some people. Fine. But don’t borrow their gratitude and turn it into an assignment for K.

If gratitude comes, it comes.

If grief comes, grief comes.

If rage comes, rage comes.

If the sentence “I cannot forgive reality” comes, that comes.

Then the question is not:

Should this be here?

The question is:

What is actually here?

This line matters:

“I really wish I could go back in time and alleviate her suffering.”

Feel that.

That is compassion.

Don’t pathologize it. Don’t rush past it into no-self. Don’t use “there is no K” as a weapon against the heart.

Let the tenderness be here.

Then look:

Is the suffering being helped by recreating the sufferer now?

Memory of suffering is here.
Love for past K is here.
Tears are here.
But is there a separate sufferer now who owns all of this?

This is delicate. Stay close.

No sufferer is found does not mean nothing mattered.

It means suffering does not require a separate owner.

Pain happened. Confusion happened. Neurodivergent struggle happened. Misattunement happened. Masking happened. Exhaustion happened. Not-understanding happened. Survival happened. Learning happened. Teaching happened. Compassion happened.

No separate controller of it is found.

And no separate victim-entity is found either.

That doesn’t erase tenderness. It may actually free it from bitterness.

About the world’s suffering: good. Let that concern stay.

Awakening is not permission to retreat into a cozy little life and ignore everyone else. But neither is it a command to become a heroic rescuer crushed by the world’s misery.

Helping happens according to conditions.

Teaching Zen happens. Kindness to spouse happens. Care for students happens. Voting happens. Donating happens. Resting happens. Not being able to do more happens.

No selfless saint needs to be manufactured.

Your own line is excellent:

If everyone were kinder to the people they interact with most, that would eliminate a whole lot of suffering.

Yes. Start there. Not as a project. As natural expression when self-protection relaxes.

And the wish that Vince encourage it to happen soon — yes, of course. That’s the childlike seeker saying:

Please help this finish.
Please make the shift happen.
Please don’t just tell me it happens when it happens.

Nothing wrong with that. But see it.

Wanting encouragement is happening.
Wanting soon is happening.
Frustration with mystery is happening.
No one is making it happen.
No one is preventing it.

Your current live inquiry is not “How do I realize no-self?”

It is:

Can the past suffering be allowed to be exactly as it is in memory, without turning it into proof that reality is guilty and K is still owed compensation?

Not answered mentally.

Felt.

And maybe the answer is no.

Then:

No is happening.
Moral protest is happening.
Crying is happening.
This is it too.

That’s not gaslighting.

That’s staying.

vince

“It’s all okay” does not mean “the suffering was good.”

Right. Of course. It’s weird how hard it is to remember that you can keep moving the “It’s okay” up (or out, or back) a level.

E.g., it wasn’t that my friend and I should try to be okay with the horribly cold weather but that we could be okay with hating the horribly cold weather. And if we didn’t like hating it, we could be okay with not liking hating it. And so forth.

I know this. But I don’t always remember it.

K suffered. It’s not that her suffering needs to be seen as okay. K can hate that K suffered, and that’s okay.

I’m seeing how “This is it” (or “It’s part of the completeness”), while not so evocative to me as “It’s okay,” avoids some of troublesome, if mistaken, implications that can be drawn from “It’s okay,” by being more vague and abstract.

Alright, but in the meeting, the language was being “in love with” and “appreciative of” all the past struggle. Oh, but now that I write that out again, I can see that this wasn’t necessarily saying it was okay (though it might’ve been saying that) but could’ve been saying that even though it totally sucked, even from the current point of view, it did, as a matter of fact, lead to being here, and here is good. I think maybe that’s different, but I’m getting myself a little confused, so I’m not sure.

Let’s see, so probably I’ll end up feeling like it’s simply a fact that K’s past suffering contributed to being able to see nirvana in samsara or that it’s all okay. (You had simply asked the person in the meeting if she could see that she owes what she has now to her hard past.) And perhaps there can be some gratitude in there? But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t horrible or that if you could go back and tell younger K about all this, she should be okay with the suffering. Yeah?

I don’t know. I still feel like I hold a major grudge against the universe for all of K’s suffering . . . and I was about to say something about how that seems like a problem, but in the middle of writing the first part of the sentence, I realized that letting go of the grudge isn’t required. I caught on more quickly this time! ALL of this is it. It’s ALL okay. When something doesn’t seem okay, that’s okay; just enlarge the “okay” container to include not finding it okay.

(Charlotte Joko Beck also talks about having “a bigger container.” My students are reading the chapters “A Bigger Container” and “It’s OK” from Everyday Zen next week. So much easier to understand what’s she’s saying and help my students understand it than to apply it to my own life.)

As you said:

“It’s all okay” means: this too is included in what is here.

Then this:

No one is being asked to sign a document saying, “The suffering was fine.”

What is being invited is much simpler:

Stop fighting the fact that it happened.

I hate it. I want to make it vanish. I want to spare past K from all of that. I want to spare everyone from all of their suffering. I hate that the universe is set up like this!

Just: it happened.

And the grief about it is happening now.

This is it.

Right.
K’s past suffering — it happened then.
The grief and sobbing and moral outrage — happening now.

That is very different from “be grateful for your suffering.”

Yes. Good.

And this is good:

“I really wish I could go back in time and alleviate her suffering.”

Feel that.

That is compassion.

Don’t pathologize it. Don’t rush past it into no-self. Don’t use “there is no K” as a weapon against the heart.

Don't rush past that. And then look to see if a sufferer is found. And remember:

No sufferer is found does not mean nothing mattered.

It means suffering does not require a separate owner.

Thank you for this empathy:

Neurodivergent struggle happened. Misattunement happened. Masking happened. Exhaustion happened.

So exhausting!

Wanting encouragement is happening.
Wanting soon is happening.
Frustration with mystery is happening.
No one is making it happen.
No one is preventing it.

Those last two lines provoked a “Hmm. Need to ponder.”

Your current live inquiry is not “How do I realize no-self?”

It is:

Can the past suffering be allowed to be exactly as it is in memory, without turning it into proof that reality is guilty and K is still owed compensation?

Not answered mentally.

Felt.

And maybe the answer is no.

Yep, the answer is no. Not right now.

Then:

No is happening.
Moral protest is happening.
Crying is happening.
This is it too.

Yes. See if the “okay” container can hold that too.

Thank you, vince. Thank you.

Hi K, this emerged from this morning's meeting.

Story: The Door Called Stuck

Song: The Door Called Stuck https://soundcloud.com/vince-schubert-1 ... lled-stuck

The centre is: being stuck is not a failure of awakening; it is often the pressure-point where the old strategy has run out, and real looking can finally begin. Suffering is still useful, and the exhaustion of seeking can become the place where “actually looking” starts because nothing else has worked.
Gary said, “I’m stuck.”
He said it with the flatness of someone who had said it many times before.
Not dramatically.
Not asking for comfort exactly.
Just reporting the condition of things.
They were sitting in Clara’s living room again, the usual small gathering. Clara on the floor near the fire. Naomi by the window, one hand around a mug. Daniel half-slouched in the armchair. Elias sitting quietly, watching Gary with the sort of attention that did not rush toward an answer.
Carol was there too, new to the room but not new to struggle. She sat near the bookshelf, upright and careful, as if she did not yet know whether the room was safe enough to relax in.
Gary looked around.
“I can see some of it. I can see the stories. I can see the seeking. I can see the frustration. But it doesn’t seem to end. It’s like I keep coming back to the same place.”
Daniel nodded.
“The famous same place.”
Gary gave a tired laugh.
“Yes. That.”
Elias said, “Describe stuck.”
Gary looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Not what does it mean. Not why is it here. Not how long has it been here. Describe it.”
Gary closed his eyes.
Immediately the mind wanted to explain.
Stuck means I’m not awake.
Stuck means I’m doing something wrong.
Stuck means other people are ahead.
Stuck means this should have shifted by now.
Stuck means maybe this isn’t for me.
He opened his eyes.
“That’s all story.”
“Yes,” Elias said.
Gary closed his eyes again.
This time he waited.
There was a pressure in the forehead.
A dull heaviness in the chest.
A collapsed feeling behind the ribs.
The jaw tight.
The belly braced.
A subtle leaning forward, as if the body was trying to get somewhere without moving.
He said this aloud.
Elias nodded.
“Good. That is much closer.”
Carol leaned forward slightly.
“So stuck is not a concept?”
“It becomes a concept,” Elias said. “But first it may be sensation, contraction, resistance, tiredness, waiting, pressure.”
Gary listened.
That already changed something.
Not fixed.
Just changed.
“Stuck” had seemed like a wall.
Now it was more like weather inside the body.
Clara said, “When I feel stuck, it usually means I’ve secretly decided where I should be by now.”
Gary opened his eyes.
“Yes.”
Naomi smiled softly. “And then where I am becomes wrong.”
“Yes,” Gary said again, more quietly.
Elias said, “That is the opening.”
Gary frowned.
“What is?”
“The discovery that stuck is not only stuck. It is also a doorway into the hidden demand.”
Gary sat back.
The hidden demand.
He could feel it immediately.
I should be clearer.
I should be freer.
I should be less reactive.
I should be able to stay with sensations.
I should not keep circling.
I should not need help.
I should be beyond this.
The stuckness was not just the condition.
It was the collision between what was here and what thought insisted should be here.
Carol spoke for the first time.
“So if I say, ‘I’m stuck,’ what I may really mean is, ‘this is not matching my picture’?”
Elias turned to her.
“Yes. Often.”
Carol looked down at her hands.
“That’s irritatingly useful.”
Daniel laughed.
“It usually is.”
Gary could feel resistance rising.
The mind wanted a more satisfying answer.
A method.
A lever.
A key.
A diagnosis.
A map with a red arrow saying You Are Here and another arrow saying Go There.
Instead, Elias was pointing him toward the very place he wanted to leave.
Stuck.
Not as failure.
As material.
As entrance.
As the exact texture of the current doorway.
Elias said, “What does the seeker do when stuck appears?”
Gary answered quickly. “Tries harder.”
“Yes.”
“Looks for another teaching.”
“Yes.”
“Compares.”
“Yes.”
“Judges.”
“Yes.”
“Feels hopeless.”
“Yes.”
“Wants to give up.”
“Yes.”
“And then judges that too.”
“Good.”
Gary sighed.
“That’s the loop.”
“Yes. And what does the loop depend on?”
Gary was quiet.
Daniel said, “The belief that somewhere else would be better.”
Elias nodded.
Gary felt that one land.
Somewhere else.
That was the engine.
Not here.
Not this.
Not this tiredness.
Not this confusion.
Not this body.
Not this ordinary moment.
Not this frustrating partial seeing.
Not this repeated pattern.
Not this boring old ache.
Somewhere else.
Awakening had become the imagined elsewhere.
And “stuck” was the name given to here when here refused to become elsewhere.
Naomi said, “What if stuck is what the search feels like when it starts running out of fuel?”
The room went quiet.
Gary looked at her.
She continued.
“At first seeking feels purposeful. There’s energy in it. Hope. Direction. The promise of an answer. But eventually, maybe the old movement gets tired. Not because you failed, but because the strategy is wearing out.”
Gary felt something soften in the chest.
The old strategy is wearing out.
That sounded different from I am failing.
Carol nodded slowly.
“So stuck might be the place where the old way no longer works, but the new way hasn’t been trusted yet.”
Elias smiled.
“Beautiful.”
Gary felt the sentence in the body.
The old way no longer works.
What was the old way?
Trying to understand.
Trying to get somewhere.
Trying to manage experience.
Trying to become a better seeker.
Trying to use attention as a tool.
Trying to use surrender as a technique.
Trying to use acceptance as a bargain.
Trying to use awakening as a rescue.
And the new way?
He did not know.
That was the trouble.
The new way was not really a way.
It was closer to stopping long enough to feel what was already here.
Not to fix it.
Not to transform it.
Not to make stuckness disappear.
Just to see:
What is this, before the word stuck?
Elias said, “There is a kind of stuckness that is actually grace.”
Gary almost rolled his eyes.
“Careful.”
“I know,” Elias said. “The word can become sugary. But I mean it plainly. Stuckness can be the point where the mind has exhausted its favourite exits.”
Clara put down her sewing.
“Yes. The doors marked ‘understand,’ ‘fix,’ ‘progress,’ ‘compare,’ ‘try harder,’ ‘give up,’ ‘be spiritual’ — all locked.”
Daniel added, “And then you discover the room has no ceiling.”
Carol smiled.
“That was annoyingly poetic.”
Daniel bowed.
Gary closed his eyes again.
Stuck.
Forehead pressure.
Chest heaviness.
Belly brace.
Jaw tight.
Leaning forward.
He stayed.
The mind said:
This won’t work.
He noticed the thought.
The body said, in its own wordless way:
Tired.
He noticed that too.
Then sadness.
Small and young.
Not a grand sadness.
More like a child sitting on a curb after waiting too long to be picked up.
Gary felt the throat tighten.
The story came quickly:
This sadness is why I’m stuck.
Then another:
I need to release this sadness.
Then another:
Maybe this is the key.
Elias said softly, as if hearing the machinery, “Do not turn it into a key.”
Gary opened his eyes.
Elias smiled. “The mind loves keys.”
Gary laughed through the tightness.
“Yes.”
“Let sadness be sadness. Let stuck be stuck. No conclusion.”
Gary closed his eyes again.
Sadness.
Pressure.
Tiredness.
Warmth in the face.
Wetness behind the eyes.
No conclusion.
The room seemed to come closer.
Rain at the window.
Fire shifting.
Naomi breathing.
Carol’s chair creaking.
Daniel’s foot tapping once, then stopping.
Clara’s needle moving through fabric.
The stuckness had not disappeared.
But it was no longer a verdict.
It was part of the room.
Part of the body.
Part of life happening.
Gary whispered, “It’s not outside.”
Elias nodded.
“No.”
“It’s not blocking life.”
“No.”
“It is life.”
“Yes.”
That did not feel triumphant.
It felt humbling.
Almost disappointing.
The mind had wanted stuckness to be the final obstacle before awakening.
Instead, stuckness was included in what awakening was pointing to.
Not the enemy.
Not the doorway to some other reality.
The doorway into this one.
Carol looked at Gary.
“I think I’ve spent years waiting for stuck to leave before I would properly look.”
Gary nodded.
“Same.”
Carol said, “But stuck is what is asking to be looked at.”
Elias said, “Yes. And not even asking in words. It is presenting itself.”
Presenting itself.
That phrase moved through the room like a bell.
Everything was presenting itself.
Stuckness.
Frustration.
Hope.
Tiredness.
Resistance.
The wish to escape.
The longing to wake up.
The shame of not being there.
The little comparisons.
The body’s ache.
The mind’s old tricks.
The tenderness under all of it.
All of it was presenting itself.
Nothing was hidden except by the demand that it be other than it was.
Gary breathed out.
For a moment, the stuckness was still there.
But it had opened.
Not by leaving.
By being entered.
Daniel said, “So the wall was a door.”
Elias shook his head.
“Even that may be too much. The wall was never only a wall.”
Clara smiled.
“That’s going in someone’s song.”
Naomi raised her mug.
“To stuckness.”
Daniel raised his.
“To the most boring guru.”
Carol laughed.
Gary raised his mug too.
The laughter was not a solution.
Nothing had been solved.
But something had been seen.
The place called stuck was not proof that awakening was absent.
It was one of the exact places where awakening could begin to show itself.
Not as light.
Not as certainty.
Not as bliss.
As the simple, almost unbearable intimacy of what was actually here.
Later, Gary walked home.
The same thoughts returned.
You’re still stuck.
You didn’t get it.
That was only a nice meeting.
Tomorrow it will be the same.
He stopped under a streetlight.
The old disappointment rose.
Then he felt it.
Not as story.
As heaviness.
As throat.
As chest.
As ache.
As wanting.
He smiled faintly.
“Oh,” he said.
Not because the ache had vanished.
Because it had become the doorway again.
And this time, he did not need it to open somewhere else.
Investigation: Being Stuck as an Opening
Being stuck usually feels like failure.
It feels like:
I am not moving.
I am not getting it.
Nothing is changing.
I am going around in circles.
Others are further along.
This should have shifted by now.
But stuckness can be one of the most important openings in awakening.
Not because stuckness is pleasant.
Not because it should be romanticised.
But because stuckness exposes the hidden machinery of seeking.
1. Stuckness reveals the demand for elsewhere
When the thought appears:
“I’m stuck,”
look underneath it.
Stuck compared to what?
Usually there is a hidden image:
I should be clearer.
I should be more peaceful.
I should be awake by now.
I should be past this.
I should not be reacting this way.
I should have stabilised.
I should be somewhere else.
So stuckness is not only what is happening.
It is what is happening plus the demand that something else should be happening.
That demand is the doorway.
2. Stuck is often the exhaustion of the old strategy
The old strategy is:
try harder,
understand more,
find the right teaching,
fix the body,
analyse the pattern,
compare progress,
wait for a breakthrough,
make surrender happen,
make acceptance happen,
become someone who is not stuck.
Eventually this becomes exhausting.
That exhaustion may feel like defeat.
But it may also be intelligence.
The system is seeing that the old movement does not work.
Stuckness may be the search running out of fuel.
3. Stuckness brings attention to the body
The word stuck sounds abstract.
But the experience is usually concrete.
Pressure.
Tightness.
Heaviness.
Collapse.
Bracing.
Numbness.
Forward-leaning.
Throat closing.
Chest aching.
Belly gripping.
Jaw holding.
The inquiry is:
What is stuck before the word stuck?
Not:
Why am I stuck?
Not:
How do I get unstuck?
But:
What is this actually made of right now?
That question shifts the movement from explanation to contact.
4. The mind turns stuckness into identity
The mind says:
“I am stuck.”
That is already a story.
More accurately:
Stuckness is here.
Even more directly:
Tightness.
Pressure.
Heaviness.
Thought.
Wanting.
Resistance.
The difference matters.
“I am stuck” creates a person trapped in a condition.
“Stuckness is here” allows the condition to be experienced without becoming identity.
“Tightness, pressure, heaviness” brings attention even closer.
5. Stuckness includes the wish to escape
The wish to escape stuckness is not wrong.
It is part of stuckness.
Wanting out is here.
Frustration is here.
Judgment is here.
Comparison is here.
Hopelessness may be here.
Hope may be here.
All of it is included.
There is no need to create a second battle against the wish to be free.
That too is simply appearing.
6. Awakening is not elsewhere
The seeker imagines awakening as the place where stuckness is finally gone.
But awakening may begin by seeing that stuckness itself is not outside life.
It is not blocking this.
It is this, appearing as contraction, thought, pressure, ache, and wanting.
This does not mean stuckness will stay forever.
It means it does not need to be rejected in order to be seen.
7. The practical inquiry
When “I’m stuck” appears, pause.
Ask:
Where is stuckness felt?
What sensations are actually here?
What story says this should be different?
What future is being imagined?
What version of myself am I comparing this to?
Can stuckness be here without being called failure?
What is this before the word stuck?
Then stop.
Feel.
Let the body answer without words.
8. Clean formulation
Being stuck is not necessarily a block to awakening. It may be the opening. Stuckness reveals the hidden demand to be elsewhere, exposes the exhaustion of the old seeking strategy, and brings attention back to the body. When “I am stuck” is seen as a story, what remains is sensation, thought, resistance, wanting, and life appearing exactly as this. Awakening is not found by escaping stuckness, but by discovering that even stuckness is not outside what is already here.

v

Hi K, this emerged from this morning's meeting.

Wow, that happened quickly!

The centre is: being stuck is not a failure of awakening; it is often the pressure-point where the old strategy has run out, and real looking can finally begin. Suffering is still useful,

Ugh. I don’t want suffering to be “useful.”

and the exhaustion of seeking can become the place where “actually looking” starts because nothing else has worked.

Well, OK.

The mind wanted a more satisfying answer.
A method.
A lever.
A key.
A diagnosis.
A map with a red arrow saying You Are Here and another arrow saying Go There.
Instead, Elias was pointing him toward the very place he wanted to leave.
Stuck.

Yep. But I'm kind of getting used to it.

“So stuck might be the place where the old way no longer works, but the new way hasn’t been trusted yet.”

I’m not even sure what the heck we’re doing. But actually, I think I trust it.

Then sadness.
Small and young.
Not a grand sadness.
More like a child sitting on a curb after waiting too long to be picked up.

Nice image.

Stuckness includes the wish to escape
The wish to escape stuckness is not wrong.
It is part of stuckness.

That's a tricky bit that I need to remember.

Clean formulation
Being stuck is not necessarily a block to awakening. It may be the opening. Stuckness reveals the hidden demand to be elsewhere, exposes the exhaustion of the old seeking strategy, and brings attention back to the body. When “I am stuck” is seen as a story, what remains is sensation, thought, resistance, wanting, and life appearing exactly as this. Awakening is not found by escaping stuckness, but by discovering that even stuckness is not outside what is already here.

Thanks for the “clear formulation.” I like tidy summaries.

Wish I could’ve stayed at the meeting longer. Thanks, vince.

Re: stuckness (or something like that):

This sort of thing is happening a lot:
An impulse arises to review some of our messages or rewatch some saved Angelo DiLullo videos or some such thing, in the hope of reminding myself of some important insights or helping something to sink in.
And then a feeling of weariness arises, and it is noticed that this was seeking energy and that there was a hope to GET something out of it.
Then there’s a feeling of deflation, and various sorts of frustrated thoughts arise, like, “Well, then what am I supposed to DO?” which is immediately seen as wanting to get to someplace other than HERE.
And then maybe the thoughts get more complicated, like, “But, but, am I just supposed to go about my daily activities and do nothing about this? But that’s what most people on the planet do, and fat lot of good that’s doing them.”
And maybe then: “Perhaps I can trust that remembered insights and pointers will simply arise at appropriate times, and I don’t have DO anything about it at this point?”
And then perhaps: “But what am I supposed to do with my free time?” And I think again of an Adyashanti video where he’s talking with a guy who’s just had a shift and who says, “What am I going to do with all my time?!”

Pursuing that last thought a bit:
Due to some combination of depressive tendencies and autism, I don’t have a lot of “hobbies” or “interests.” You could say that awakening is my autistic “special interest.” Of course, I teach meditation — and am, at this moment, procrastinating on reading reflection papers from my Zen course on my students’ experiments with “following the breath” — so I could keep focusing on awakening but as more of a bodhisattva-ish project of how best to help others awaken. And I think there’s something genuine and good and suitable in there, and I do keep collecting ideas that I am already using or will probably eventually use in my teaching, but I suspect that this might also be a sneaky way for the “self” to continue its own little personal seeking project.

[Thanks for once again making it clear that prolific posting is okay.]

P.S. Immediately after posting the last message, I realized I’d left something out.

I’d noticed all of that thought-stuff and emotion-stuff going on. So that’s good.

But also:
Notice sensations of the here and now:
Tightness in throat and chest.
Vague sense of leaning forward in time and maybe even in space.
Tension in jaw and mouth.
Maybe heaviness, deflation, weariness.

All of it is frikkin’ THIS.

Yeah, more frustration, anger, tears arising.
All this. All here.

Nothing wrong with any of it, in some big sense that I sometimes do and sometimes don’t feel.
Feeling it a little bit right now.

Time to read reflections on following the breath . . .
*Sigh.*

I’d noticed all of that thought-stuff and emotion-stuff going on. So that’s good.

But also:
Notice sensations of the here and now:
Tightness in throat and chest.
Vague sense of leaning forward in time and maybe even in space.
Tension in jaw and mouth.
Maybe heaviness, deflation, weariness.

All of it is frikkin’ THIS.

Yeah, more frustration, anger, tears arising.
All this. All here.

Nothing wrong with any of it, in some big sense that I sometimes do and sometimes don’t feel.
Feeling it a little bit right now.

Yes. Good stuff.
This is much closer.
Not:
I need to make this okay.
But:
Tightness is here.
Leaning-forward is here.
Jaw tension is here.
Weariness is here.
Frustration is here.
Anger is here.
Tears are here.

And yes:
All of it is frikkin’ THIS.
That line has life in it. It isn’t polished. It isn’t spiritual. It isn’t pretending. Very good.

But watch this part:
“Nothing wrong with any of it, in some big sense that I sometimes do and sometimes don’t feel.”
Don’t make the big sense the new requirement.

Sometimes the sense of okayness is felt.
Sometimes it isn’t.
Both are this.
So:
Feeling that it’s okay is here.
Not feeling that it’s okay is here.
Wanting to feel that it’s okay is here.
Frustration that it doesn’t feel okay is here.
Nothing needs to be added.

And this is the important bit: the frustration, anger, and tears don’t mean you’ve left This is it.
They are not interruptions of reality.
They are reality.

No need to soften.
No need to forgive reality.
No need to become grateful.
No need to conclude anything.
Just this!
The throat.
The chest.
The jaw.
The forward lean.
The tears.
The words.
The protest.
The tiny glimpse that none of it is wrong.

Now gently look:
Is there anyone outside all this, having it?
Or is it only all this?

Now stop..
Consider this: There is nothing that you can experience, either internally or (apparently) externally, that isn't this.
The experience of..
The experience by..
IS THE SAME THING.

You wanting something to be different is still this.
You imagining that you know how you will respond to reading Zen essays is still it.
That this shapes your yet-to-be experience is still this.
That this appears inevitable is also this.

vince

[Wrote this before I got your latest post:]

Wake up in the morning.
Check phone. No new post from vince.
Mind wonders what to DO about awakening.
This is supposedly the wrong question, but mind has a hard time believing it can’t DO anything.
Mind comes up with narrating this little process in a post and finds that satisfactory.
Still lying in bed, reach for laptop (easier to type on than on phone) and type this.
Having finished that, mind is stuck.

Oh, wait. What’s here?
Slight headache. Cool air on skin. Sound of car outside. Sound of typing. Seeing computer screen. Thinking of work to be done today.
Hearing faint noises coming from spouse’s bluetooth headphones that are lying on the bed. (Spouse already up and in living room.) Plug in headphones to charge, which disconnects them from his phone.
Slight headache. Spray some Flonase in nose because headache is likely allergy-related.
Car starting outside.
OK, now what?
Drink some juice (which I’d put in a thermos on my bedside table last night, to drink this morning).
This is supposedly it. This is all there is to it. This is it.
Now actually plug in headphones. (Had narrated that before actually doing it.)

Well aware that it’s common for folks at this “stage” to find THIS to be unsatisfying to the seeking mind that wants something else — not necessarily some big exciting experience but at least something that feels like something has changed.
Sick of getting into the apparent paradox that when THIS is accepted, there probably will be a change (as suggested by all the stories and LU’s “final exam” questions) — that there will likely be a date that can be pointed to when there was a noticeable shift.
Spouse doesn’t like “no-self” language or any focus on kensho. He thinks it leads people astray. His perspective is more or less in line with Soto Zen. Can at this moment hear, from the living room, the chanting of the online Zen group he sits with most mornings.
He worries about my thinking I’m going to find something and that I think other people are “further along” than I am. Seems to me that that’s partially a legitimate and wise concern, but partially I think he might be missing out on something. But I don’t say that last part, because I don’t want to have that conversation, both because it would be unpleasant and also because it would presumably be unfruitful.

Check again for post from vince. Nope.
(It’s getting late in Australia, so if there’s no new post in the next hour or so, there probably won’t be one until this evening, my time.)
It’s too early to leave to go to the public library where I often go to do my two online jobs.
Guess I’ll play Spelling Bee and keep compulsively checking for a new post from vince, then maybe poke around Ashton’s new posts. Not sure whether it’s poor LU etiquette to look at other people’s threads, but I do it anyway. Have had the thought that at the next Zoom meeting I attend, I’ll tell Ashton I’ve been following his threads. (If you’re reading this, Ashton, hi!)

Check again for post from vince. Nope.

It occurs to me that I’ve already checked to see if I had any email from my students, and I checked my class discussion boards and even wrote a brief response to a new post. I’m not sure exactly when I did that in what’s narrated above. It was probably after picking up my computer and before starting to type this post, but I’m not sure. Odd. I think I’d already mentally composed the little story I wanted to start this post with and stuck with the story even when it wasn’t precisely what I did. Humans are funny.

Which reminds me of something I wanted to mention: I noticed that I’ve been laughing more lately.

Post from vince! (Thanks, vince.)

Started a reply, but need to go do some work. Will spent more time on it later.

Quoting this again from two days ago. I’ve been noticing it happening (and telling you about it):

and the exhaustion of seeking can become the place where “actually looking” starts because nothing else has worked.

Responding to your latest post:

But watch this part:
“Nothing wrong with any of it, in some big sense that I sometimes do and sometimes don’t feel.”
Don’t make the big sense the new requirement.

Yep. Gotcha.
It’s not required to feel like nothing is wrong with any of it.

Feeling that it’s okay is here.
Not feeling that it’s okay is here.
Wanting to feel that it’s okay is here.
Frustration that it doesn’t feel okay is here.
Nothing needs to be added.

Yes. Good.
Writing this out again to help lodge it in my consciousness:
It’s not required to feel like it’s all okay.
It’s not even required to feel like it’s okay to not feel like it’s all okay.
Etc.

And this is the important bit: the frustration, anger, and tears don’t mean you’ve left This is it.
They are not interruptions of reality.
They are reality.

I’m starting to grok this (not just understand it).

Reminds me of the structure of things I say all the time in teaching basic Zen meditation practice, like, “Thoughts are not an interruption to the practice or a distraction from the practice. They’re an intrinsic part of the practice.”

I have to say that sort of thing a lot because it can be hard for people to get — like how it’s helpful for you to keep telling me, in different ways, that ALL of it is THIS, because that can be hard to get, and even once the general principle is clear, stuff can slip by.

Now coming to the parts of your message that I'm finding more challenging:

Now gently look:
Is there anyone outside all this, having it?
Or is it only all this?

Speaking from thought and understanding and memory of repeatedly looking:
Obviously there’s no one outside all of the experiencing who’s “having” the experience. (Or at least, there’s obviously no “someone” that’s accessible to direct experience, and I’m pretty sure that’s all that matters for these purposes.)
But (yeah, here we go) so what? Being confident of that doesn't seem to have been particularly helpful so far.

Now stop..
Consider this: There is nothing that you can experience, either internally or (apparently) externally, that isn't this.
The experience of..
The experience by..
IS THE SAME THING.

Yeah. Right. Makes sense.
But of course I’m probably not getting it experientially.
Is this basically a no-self pointer — that there's only experiencing happening, not a separate experiencer (subject) of experiences (object) — or is something else going on here too? I feel like I might be missing something.
I'm not sure what to do with this, but the "Now stop" and the line in all caps make it seem particularly important.

You wanting something to be different is still this.
You imagining that you know how you will respond to reading Zen essays is still it.
That this shapes your yet-to-be experience is still this.
That this appears inevitable is also this.

Yep, those are some of the trickier sorts of things.

OK, so I’ve been procrastinating on doing work. I feel resistant to starting.
But that’s also THIS.
Pfthft!
That doesn’t mean I have to not feel resistant.
It doesn’t mean I have to be okay with feeling resistant.
Aargh!!!
There’s nothing wrong with starting to cry with frustration.
Except that I’m in a public place.
OK, headed to the restroom to cry in semi-private . . .

Didn’t actually cry in the restroom.
Went outside and walked two brisk laps around the outside of the library because that felt like the thing to do and because I haven’t been getting enough (any) exercise lately.
And now I’d like to be able to say that I’m no longer resistant to starting work, but I still am.
That’s what’s here.
It’s all THIS?!?!?!?
And another weary, frustrated sigh.
Yeah, yeah, that’s also THIS. I know.
But I don’t quite know.
But even not quite knowing . . .
OK, I’ve had it for now!
(And that’s also THIS. OMG, stop!)

Obviously there’s no one outside all of the experiencing who’s “having” the experience. (Or at least, there’s obviously no “someone” that’s accessible to direct experience, and I’m pretty sure that’s all that matters for these purposes.)
But (yeah, here we go) so what? Being confident of that doesn't seem to have been particularly helpful so far.

Yes. “So what?” is a completely legitimate response. It shouldn’t be brushed aside as resistance.

Seeing that no experiencer can be found does not guarantee calm, pleasure, emotional stability or an impressive new way of living. The nervous system remains biological. Conditioning continues. Pain still hurts. No-self is not an anaesthetic.

But there may be an important distinction between:

• directly looking and finding only experiencing, and
• being confident in the conclusion, “There is no separate experiencer.”

The second is stored knowledge. It is another thought appearing now. Knowing the correct answer is not necessarily the same as noticing ownership being constructed while anger, disappointment or frustration is actually happening.

And hidden inside “It hasn’t been helpful” may be the more alive material:

I expected seeing this to change how life feels.
I expected less suffering.
I expected some recognisable payoff.
That payoff has not arrived.

None of that is wrong. But let’s investigate it rather than repeating, “There’s nobody here.”

What would “helpful” have looked like?

Less unpleasant emotion? Less resistance? More peace? A feeling of freedom? Confidence that awakening had happened?

Whatever answer comes, notice that it will probably be an image of a different experience—an imagined future against which this experience is being measured.

Then look now:

• What is the actual experience of “This hasn’t helped”?
• Is it tightness, heaviness, disappointment or weariness?
• Is the entire history of “so far” present, or is there a thought referring to that history?
• Before that thought turns the present into evidence, what is wrong with the sensations themselves?

This isn’t an attempt to make the disappointment disappear. The disappointment is included.

Perhaps the practical consequence of finding no owner is not that difficult experiencing stops. It is that, little by little, difficult experiencing need not become:

My suffering.
My failure.
Proof that I’m still stuck.
Something I must escape before life can begin.

If that consequence hasn’t occurred, then let’s not pretend it has. But the live investigation is no longer:

“Does a self exist?”

You’ve looked and found no directly accessible one.

The live edge is:

What was the recognition expected to do for me—and what happens when it doesn’t?

And yes—even the impish “So what?” is THIS.

It may be more honest, and therefore more useful, than trying to manufacture reverence for a conclusion that has not delivered what it seemed to promise.

Yeah. Right. Makes sense.
But of course I’m probably not getting it experientially.
Is this basically a no-self pointer — that there's only experiencing happening, not a separate experiencer (subject) of experiences (object) — or is something else going on here too? I feel like I might be missing something.

Yes—it is partly a no-self pointer. But there is something else being examined too.

The no-self part is straightforward:

There is seeing, hearing, sensation and thought. A separate person standing outside all of that and receiving it cannot be found.

But we don’t need to turn this into the metaphysical belief:

“Only experiencing exists.”

That would simply be another conclusion. For this investigation, it is enough that no separate experiencer is accessible in direct experience.

The other part is noticing how the apparent self can be reconstructed around the pointer:

I understand this intellectually.
I’m probably not getting it experientially.
There must be something I’m missing.
Eventually I may recognise it properly.
Then it will make a difference to me.

There is the experiencer again—not as an entity that has been discovered, but as a story about someone located in time, approaching a future recognition.

That doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It is simply selfing happening.

“I’m probably not getting it experientially” is especially worth looking at.

What tells you that?

Is there present evidence that you are not getting it—or is there an image of how experiential recognition ought to feel, followed by a comparison with what is happening now?

It may still be the stereogram expectation:

I can see the flat picture, but the real picture hasn’t popped out yet.

Try this now:

Notice a sound.

Before identifying its source, is there anything other than hearing?

Can a hearer be found separately from the hearing?

Now notice the thought:

“Yes, but I’m probably not really getting this.”

Was that thought produced by someone, or did it appear?

Is there someone outside the thought evaluating it—or is evaluating also happening as thought, sensation and perhaps a feeling of uncertainty?

Then look at “I might be missing something.”

How does missing appear?

Perhaps as leaning forward, tightness in the chest, a searching feeling and an image of a future click. But can an actual missing thing be found?

This is where it extends beyond simply proving no-self. We are looking at how:

• experiencing becomes my experience;
• uncertainty becomes my failure to understand;
• an imagined future becomes where I need to get to;
• and an ordinary recognition becomes something that should eventually produce a payoff.

Experiential recognition does not necessarily feel like a special experience.

It may be profoundly ordinary:

Sound—but no hearer found.
Thought—but no thinker found.
Searching—but no searcher found.
The feeling of missing something—but nobody outside that feeling who is missing it.

And then the mind says:

“Surely that can’t be all.”

That thought is not an obstruction to the recognition.

It is another example of it.

And now I’d like to be able to say that I’m no longer resistant to starting work, but I still am.
That’s what’s here.
It’s all THIS?!?!?!?
And another weary, frustrated sigh.
Yeah, yeah, that’s also THIS. I know.
But I don’t quite know.
But even not quite knowing . . .
OK, I’ve had it for now!
(And that’s also THIS. OMG, stop!)

Yes. Stop.

Not “stopping is also THIS.”
Not “being fed up is also THIS.”
Just stop the investigation for now.

The phrase “that’s also THIS” has started behaving like an irritating spiritual commentator following you around and stamping everything:

Resistance—THIS.
Frustration—THIS.
Not knowing—THIS.
Annoyance at saying THIS—also THIS!

No wonder there’s a weary sigh.

THIS does not need to be continually recognised, announced or confirmed. Nothing needs you to stand outside experiencing and certify that each appearance belongs.

The pointer was meant to end the sorting—not create an endless new job of spiritually labelling everything.

And you don’t need to become non-resistant before starting work. Resistance can be present while the computer is opened, while the first sentence is typed or while nothing happens at all. Resistance does not have veto power. It is not a wall; it may just be sensations, thoughts and reluctance travelling alongside whatever happens next.

But no more investigation right now.

You’ve had enough.

Go be ordinarily annoyed. (..and allow for laughing to erupt at seeing...)

much love

v

But there may be an important distinction between:

• directly looking and finding only experiencing, and
• being confident in the conclusion, “There is no separate experiencer.”

Yes, certainly those might be different. I guess I was thinking that I’d been there, done that, and wasn’t bothering to look for a “self” anymore, since, when I did, I just kept going, “No self found. Nope, no self. Still no self.” But I think I was mainly looking at simple sense perceptions: no seer, no hearer, etc. So this is a little different:

noticing ownership being constructed while anger, disappointment or frustration is actually happening.

What would “helpful” have looked like?

Less unpleasant emotion? Less resistance? More peace? A feeling of freedom? Confidence that awakening had happened?

Yeah, OK. The mind is in the habit of imagining “helpful” seeing of no-self as, yes, all of those things you listed. And LU has led me to think that it will include a greatly diminished sense of seeking, which certainly hasn’t happened, though maybe the seeking is starting to feel slightly less desperate.

I read the kensho accounts in The Three Pillars of Zen way back when, and I’m not expecting anything as dramatic as some (all?) of those. I’m getting an echo in my head of Rupert Spira playfully echoing a seeker’s sense that, okay, she doesn’t need anything dramatic (though she’d like that), but she would at least like “quite a nice” experience.

I’ve now watched enough Angelo DiLullo videos to understand that some people need to be convinced that they’ve had a “shift,” even when Angelo and perhaps other people on the retreat with them and even YouTube viewers like me can tell that something has changed for them.

But, yeah, I do have expectations of an experience that is different from present experience.

• What is the actual experience of “This hasn’t helped”?
• Is it tightness, heaviness, disappointment or weariness?

Disappointment, weariness, deflation, anger.

• Is the entire history of “so far” present, or is there a thought referring to that history?

It’s memory, so I guess that’s thoughts with particularly sticky “self” thoughts attached?

• Before that thought turns the present into evidence, what is wrong with the sensations themselves?

Disappointed, weary, and deflated aren’t my favorite ways to feel (though there are certainly worse). Oh, wait, those feelings come after the present is “turned into evidence.” Before that . . . hmm . . . There’s just whatever is being experienced at the moment, which could be anything. And I might (in my usual current way of relating to reality) find something “wrong” with those sensations, but that’s unrelated to the idea that “This hasn’t helped.” (I kept getting confused trying to answer that question, but I think that’s my answer.)

Perhaps the practical consequence of finding no owner is not that difficult experiencing stops. It is that, little by little, difficult experiencing need not become:

My suffering.
My failure.
Proof that I’m still stuck.
Something I must escape before life can begin.

If that consequence hasn’t occurred, then let’s not pretend it has.

Hmm . . .
OK. Yeah. Maybe that stuff is lightening up a little bit, at least sometimes?

The live edge is:

What was the recognition expected to do for me—and what happens when it doesn’t?

First part of question was addressed above: notably, more peace and a sense of a shift in usual perception of reality.
Second part of question was also addressed above: disappointment, weariness, deflation, anger (and probably other things).

noticing how the apparent self can be reconstructed around the pointer:

I understand this intellectually.
I’m probably not getting it experientially.
There must be something I’m missing.
Eventually I may recognise it properly.
Then it will make a difference to me.

There is the experiencer again—not as an entity that has been discovered, but as a story about someone located in time, approaching a future recognition.

OK, that’s interesting.

“I’m probably not getting it experientially” is especially worth looking at.

What tells you that?

As mentioned above: no sense of anything having changed due to seeing it.

Oh, but what now pops to mind is that I just told you yesterday that I’ve noticed that I’m laughing more.

I was about to go on to list other things I’ve noticed, but now I’m getting confused. I’d thought I was trying to wrap my mind around the fact that it isn’t actually significant that I haven’t experienced anything noteworthy that’s apparently related to never finding a “self.” But now I’m about to continue listing things that have changed, though they are perhaps rather subtle or are kind of sneaking up on me. So it actually is significant whether something is changing or not?

Oh, right, quoting this again:

little by little, difficult experiencing need not become:

My suffering.
My failure.
Proof that I’m still stuck.
Something I must escape before life can begin.

(I’ve been assuming all along in these conversations that it’s helpful to “show my work,” that is, to show not just where I ended up but how I got there. Yes?)

So, to continue with “little by little” things (which aren’t the same sorts of things listed in that quote, but I think they’re relevant), some of which I’ve already mentioned to you:
- I’m laughing more.
- I’m spending less of my time feeling like being alive is torture.
- I’m doing a little bit better job of “practicing with” ongoing big and little difficulties in my relationship with my spouse.
- Spouse has noticed that things are changing for the better for me.
- Spouse is delighted that I want to do two sittings periods a day with him. (We moved in together after I'd just completed a year’s residency at the Zen monastery, and he quite reasonably envisioned our doing a lot of meditating together, but I’d gotten burnt out and stuck in my spiritual practice, and we haven’t done much meditation together until about six months ago.)
- I’m uncharacteristically fascinated by the growth of my potted caladium that started as a bulb (technically, a tuber) that a friend gave me.
- Spouse and I both noticed that I was much more chatty that usual with the wife of a long-time friend of ours when we had them over for dinner recently. (I don’t generally find social chitchat easy or pleasant, especially with people I don’t know very well, and this sort of ease and relaxation was nice.)

OK, it was worthwhile to do that inventory. And I suspect a few other things might come to mind.

If everything keeps heading in this direction, that would be lovely.

Coming back to this:

What would “helpful” have looked like?

I suppose “helpful” might look like gradual changes for the better.

But still, I feel like there’s some quantum leap I’m missing.

Now notice the thought:

“Yes, but I’m probably not really getting this.”

Was that thought produced by someone, or did it appear?

Is there someone outside the thought evaluating it—or is evaluating also happening as thought, sensation and perhaps a feeling of uncertainty?

Answering from thought, understanding, and memory of experience: The thought just appeared. And then presumably a subsequent thought and perhaps some sensations and feelings somehow seemed to ratify it.

The trick, I suppose, is to notice this happening in real time, when the thought arises — to see that it’s no more “mine” and has no more right to automatically be taken seriously than any other thought that appears.

Then look at “I might be missing something.”

How does missing appear?

Perhaps as leaning forward, tightness in the chest, a searching feeling and an image of a future click.

I suppose “missing something” is comparing present experience with imagined and preferred experience. I.e., “missing something” appears as thought, probably with some bodily sensations.

But can an actual missing thing be found?

Well, I can observe present experience and notice that certain things aren’t there. I assume that the “wrong” answer, but I’m not sure why.

This is where it extends beyond simply proving no-self. We are looking at how:

• experiencing becomes my experience;
• uncertainty becomes my failure to understand;
• an imagined future becomes where I need to get to;
• and an ordinary recognition becomes something that should eventually produce a payoff.

Yeah, OK. Examining a simple sensory experience and realizing that no experiencer is found is, at this point, so easy and straightforward that it seems obvious. But the supposed experiencer can appear (quoting this again) “as a story about someone located in time, approaching a future recognition.” Noticing this sort of selfing does not (yet) seem so easy and straightforward.

Experiential recognition does not necessarily feel like a special experience.

. . . . .

And then the mind says:

“Surely that can’t be all.”

That thought is not an obstruction to the recognition.

I’m glad that thought isn’t an obstruction.
But what IS the obstruction?
Is there an obstruction?
Maybe “obstruction” is the wrong word, but it seems like there some reason that I’m not “there” yet . . .
And I couldn’t even finish typing that last sentence without noticing that it included the idea of something missing and the sense of time and comparison between present reality and imagined future.
And yet, I still somehow am not getting how to defuse “something missing.”
But I suppose I could just see a sense of missing something as a form of seeking, and, quoting this once again from a few days ago:

the exhaustion of seeking can become the place where “actually looking” starts because nothing else has worked.

So a thought that I’m missing something (awakening-wise) could, like a sense of stuckness, be seen as a prompt to look right here at what actually is.

OK, wait, back to this:

There is the experiencer again—not as an entity that has been discovered, but as a story about someone located in time, approaching a future recognition.

Someone who's missing something is a story about a someone on a timeline.
And somehow, that's still not clicking for me as, "Oh, it's merely thoughts and sensations!" or whatever.

The phrase “that’s also THIS” has started behaving like an irritating spiritual commentator following you around and stamping everything:

That’s exactly what I was thinking: that I had an annoying little Zen master in my head, making sure I was getting the point that it’s all THIS.
Yeah, got it! STFU for a while, little Zen master!

And you don’t need to become non-resistant before starting work.

Ugh. Yeah, I guess.
Why do I find it SO painful sometimes?!
(Go away, little Zen master!)

Go be ordinarily annoyed. (..and allow for laughing to erupt at seeing...)

Not sure whether you meant SEEING seeing or just watching myself being ordinarily annoyed, but I do look forward (yeah, I know) to seeing how ridiculously simple and obvious it all is and laughing about it.

Whew! Long one.

Whew! Long one.

Yes, and lots of good stuff in there, but this one is really salient:

I can observe present experience and notice that certain things aren’t there.

Not quite.

You can observe present experiencing and notice what is appearing.

But to say that a particular thing isn’t there, thought must first introduce an image or concept of that thing and compare it with what is present.

And to say that something is missing adds even more:

It should be here.
I expected it to be here.
Its absence matters to me.

This is a potentially potent pivot point.
The distinction between what is actual and what is conceptual is key.
What is actual is primary. What is conceptual is secondary.
That isn’t entirely accurate—but it is useful for the moment. We’ll return to the qualification later.

What is actual?
Colour. Sound. Pressure. Warmth. Tightness. Movement. Thought appearing.

What is conceptual?
What these things mean.
Why they are happening.
What caused them.
What should be happening instead.
What is supposedly absent.

Even pleasant and unpleasant are descriptions, although they remain close to the body’s immediate response.

The moment we say why something feels unpleasant, what it means or what must happen to change it, a story has begun.

An actual thought can appear—but that does not make the content of the thought actual.
The thought “Something is missing” is an actual event.
But can the missing thing itself be found anywhere outside the thought or image referring to it?

Pain, fear and bodily discomfort can arise without a story. But psychological suffering grows when a story is treated as a true description of reality:
This shouldn’t be happening.
Something is wrong with me.
I’m still stuck.
I need a different experience before I can be okay.

Alleviating suffering does not require the extinction of stories. Story-making is one of the things brains do.
What matters is the relationship to the story.
Is it recognised as a possible interpretation—or experienced as unquestionable reality?

A story held lightly may still influence action, but it doesn’t carry the same authority. A story taken as truth produces a corresponding bodily and emotional response.

The stories that generate psychological suffering nearly always place “me” at their centre:
Something happened to me.
Something is missing for me.
I should be further along.
My experience needs to change.

So look again:
What is actually here—and what has thought added about what is not?



i don't want this to distract you from above, so come back to this bit later...

What is actual is primary. What is conceptual is secondary.
That isn’t entirely accurate—but it is useful for the moment. We’ll return to the qualification later.

Here is the qualification.

The conceptual is not outside actuality.
A thought is actual as a thought.
A mental image is actual as an image.
A story is actual as storytelling happening.

If the thought “Something is missing” appears, the occurrence of that thought is actual. What is not necessarily actual is what the thought claims:
that something really is missing,
that it should be present,
and that its absence explains the present discomfort.

So the more precise distinction is not:
Actual things versus unreal thoughts.

It is:
The actual occurrence of thought versus the conceptual content to which thought refers.

There is another qualification too. Primary and secondary can make it sound as though raw experience happens first and the brain consciously adds a story several moments later. Often the nervous system categorises and interprets before any conscious description appears. Perceiving is already shaped by memory, prediction and learned distinctions.
So “Events first, stories second” is not necessarily a literal timeline. It is an investigative tool:
What is happening now?
What is directly sensed?
What meaning, explanation or conclusion is being attributed to it?

Nor is the conceptual somehow bad or inferior. Concepts are essential for language, planning, recognising danger and functioning in ordinary life.
Difficulty begins when conceptual content is mistaken for direct actuality.

The thought “Something is missing” is actually happening.
But the supposedly missing thing exists only as a remembered or imagined representation against which present experiencing is being compared.

So the fullest formulation might be:
Everything appearing is actual as an event.
Not everything claimed by an appearing thought is actual as fact.

v

This distinction is clear to me:

An actual thought can appear—but that does not make the content of the thought actual.

I hadn’t thought of this so explicitly before, but it’s also clear and is an interesting note:

So “Events first, stories second” is not necessarily a literal timeline. It is an investigative tool:

And this is clear conceptually, but seeing it in action in my own experience is, of course, another matter:

Difficulty begins when conceptual content is mistaken for direct actuality.

When I read your message last night, right before going to sleep, I noticed that while it all made sense to me, it was seeming rather abstract, and I couldn’t immediately get a feel for how it would touch down in my own experience and specifically in relation to feeling like there’s “something missing.” So now, looking again, more carefully and with a rested brain . . .

But to say that a particular thing isn’t there, thought must first introduce an image or concept of that thing and compare it with what is present.

Yeah, OK. That makes sense. Saying that something isn’t there clearly involves thought.

And to say that something is missing adds even more:

It should be here.
I expected it to be here.
Its absence matters to me.

Yes.
And good distinction between “not there” and “missing.”
(Wow, that last sentence totally sounded like I was in teacher mode, which is unsurprising, since I just responded to some discussion posts from my students. Sorry if I slip into that sometimes! I was about to say that I’m not grading your work, but let’s face it, my brain is always evaluating everyone’s work, including mine, perhaps especially mine. I’m an easy grader, though — well, except of my own work probably and maybe of my poor spouse’s. Let’s try again . . . )
I appreciate this nuanced distinction between “not there” and “missing.” Yes, “missing” is freighted with judgment.

This is also some helpful nuance:

Even pleasant and unpleasant are descriptions, although they remain close to the body’s immediate response.

The moment we say why something feels unpleasant, what it means or what must happen to change it, a story has begun.

I think this is at the heart of what I need to grok re: “something missing” and all other unnecessary suffering and dissatisfaction:

Pain, fear and bodily discomfort can arise without a story. But psychological suffering grows when a story is treated as a true description of reality:
This shouldn’t be happening.
Something is wrong with me.
I’m still stuck.
I need a different experience before I can be okay.

So look again:
What is actually here—and what has thought added about what is not?

Re: “something missing” related to awakening:
What's actually here (as I realized more clearly while writing my post yesterday) is . . .
Interruption: I was about to talk about the things that are gradually changing for the better and which I had neglected to grant due significance, but that doesn’t seem to count as “what's actually here,” since that’s comparing now with the past, and that’s thought.

Hmm . . .

What had actually been my first thought about “what's actually here” was just immediate physical sensations, but that seemed like it didn’t directly address the issue of “something missing”?
Oh, right, “what's actually here” also includes the thoughts that are arising, without mistaking their content for actuality.

So try again:
I’m trying to figure out how to set this up right . . .
Maybe imagine vince telling me, “When you think, Something is missing, what is actually here?” (That works, right?)

What's actually here:
The sentence “Something is missing.”
Some tightness in the throat, mouth, jaw. Some constriction of chest and breathing.
Feeling of tears starting to rise.
Thoughts of longing for an imagined future state.
Thoughts of how long ago I started on this path.
Frustration at not being “there” yet.
Tears. Sniffling.
Thoughts of how things are gradually improving.
Petulant thoughts about wanting more than that and a more definitive change than that.
Wiping nose.
Thoughts of how I need to get some work done. And thoughts of how I’d much rather spend longer with this. (That’s definitely part of my recent resistance to getting work done.)

In making that list of what's actually here now, thoughts are seen as merely thoughts.

OK, so now what?

Here comes the little Zen master:
This is it.
Yeah, alright, I’m willing to listen to him again today (definitely a him).
This is it.
I’m not even sure what that means exactly, but, yeah, I’m starting to get it:
This is it.

When seeking energy arises, such as feeling like there’s something missing that “I” want to find, I can remember that I’m more or less convinced that seeking is futile — like resistance (I’m guessing you get that Star Trek reference that my brain offered up?). And anyhow, seeking is tiresome, and it reconstructs the fictional “I.” So instead, just look at what’s actually here. Summary: When seeking arises, just look at what's actually here.

I really do need to get some more work done.

I’ve been trying to keep in mind my idea about jovial cursing as a way to “enjoy one’s misery.” Spouse has been reading Ulysses, which includes the exclamation “Shite and onions.” And the lead detective in the TV series Grantchester often wearily exclaims, “Christ on a bike.” I’ve filed those as the start of a list of jovial curses, though regular old curses could serve the purpose too if said jovially.

Shite and onions!!! Time to work. Ugh.