The Gate

I enjoyed how you ran with the analogy of depth perception.

Perhaps “K in here, looking at a world out there” is constructed in much the same way. A visual perspective appears, bodily sensations locate the organism, and thought interprets the apparent viewpoint as an observer occupying its centre. The construction is so familiar that the observer seems to be directly perceived.

This doesn’t mean the world or the body is unreal, any more than it means the actual road is flat. It means that the apparent division into “subject in here” and “objects out there” may be the brain’s interpretation rather than something vision itself reveals.

Yes. I concur with all of that, of course.

Look at the scene before you now.

Perspective is present—but can an owner of that perspective be seen?

In the scene in front of me, there are lots of lines that are parallel in the 3-D world, providing a clear illustration of vanishing points as well as parallax, which indicates the location of these two eyes that are receiving impressions of the scene.
But, of course, no seer can be found.
(I just need to pause to exclaim, yet again, how bizarre and inexplicable consciousness is — skipping over the even more bizarre and inexplicable fact that anything at all exists. Some photons hit the retina; the optic nerve carries electrical signals to the brain; the brain turns that into useful information for the organism; and . . . there’s consciousness of that?! What?! Why?! How?!)

Does vision itself contain a K looking out, or does thought place K at the point from which the scene is viewed?

Obviously, it is thought that locates the supposed seer behind the eyes.
And it just now occurred to me for the first time that of course the seer is imagined to be not in the eyes but behind the eyes, because that’s where the two images from our binocular vision apparently converge. Someone with only one eye would probably imagine the seer in the eye. (Cool. I’m pleased with that little insight.)

Need to stop now, but will read the story later. And I'll see you the meeting. (It amuses me to tell people I go to Australia on Sunday evenings.)

This seems appropriate;
https://vinceschubert.substack.com/p/th ... ere?r=qv9x

I was a ways in before I realized I’d read this one before. You posted a pre-publication copy for me here in early July. It was interesting to go back and read my comments from the first time. There was more “Hmm” where I would now say, “Yeah, of course,” like on this:

“The felt me is not outside experience looking at experience. The felt me is included in experience.”

And this:

“Let separateness be here. But look at what it is made of.”
That was the whole instruction.

Shortly after waking up this morning, started to feel tormented (and I don’t think that’s too strong a word) by the dread of dealing with tasks on my to-do list, combined, I think, with some third-arrow suffering of wishing this sort of unhappiness would be gone for good.

If spouse hadn’t still been asleep, I might’ve sat up in bed, grabbed my computer, and started writing about it, which probably would’ve helped (I suppose because writing aids the process of objectifying and disidentifying from thoughts), but I didn’t want to disturb him. I don’t think very well when I’ve just woken up, and I spent a while lying in bed, in the dark, trying to count my breath, which wasn’t a great choice. I probably should've gotten up and gone to the living room, but I didn’t think of that.

I thought of the new attendee at the Monday morning meetings who I think needs to do more screaming or crying about her suffering and frustration and thought of how that might be mainly advice to myself. And I thought of the person at the meeting who was feeling like there was false advertising for awakening, which, it turns out, doesn’t magically and instantly wipe out all suffering.

A morsel of wisdom I came up with for dealing with me, way back while living at Zen monastery, was, “If it hurts, cry.” Spouse is up now, and I have the bedroom to myself, so I can sit here and write and cry, with the blinds open and the sun coming in. Now I feel not great but not tormented.

I’m posting this here largely to remind myself of “If it hurts, cry,” and also to remind myself not to lie in bed in the dark when I feel tormented. And you’d be welcome to send a virtual hug my way as well as any insight or practical wisdom for the day.

There was more “Hmm” where I would now say, “Yeah, of course.”

This may be more significant than it looks. You’ve said that you are waiting for the organism’s way of experiencing reality to change—not merely for another intellectual conclusion. Well, the same words that previously required consideration now meet much less resistance: “Yeah, of course.”

That doesn’t need to be promoted into proof of awakening. But don’t dismiss it because it arrived gradually and without fireworks. This may be what biological assimilation looks like: something once merely understood is becoming increasingly obvious.

And the observation about the seer being imagined behind the eyes is delightful. Whether binocular convergence is specifically responsible is uncertain—the brain also uses bodily, vestibular and spatial information—but the important discovery is solid: the apparent location of the seer is itself part of the construction. Perspective is present; two eyes are present; an organism is receiving and processing light. But no seer is found behind them.

v

There was more “Hmm” where I would now say, “Yeah, of course.”

This may be more significant than it looks. You’ve said that you are waiting for the organism’s way of experiencing reality to change—not merely for another intellectual conclusion. Well, the same words that previously required consideration now meet much less resistance: “Yeah, of course.”

This does seem like a good thing.
But I’m in the kind of mood at the moment where the mind is throwing a little tantrum and saying, “But I want it to change faster!”

the apparent location of the seer is itself part of the construction.

Yeah, of course.
(As you may have known or assumed, that point was already perfectly clear to me before I followed your pointer about visual perspective and started riffing on it.)

Given how I was feeling this morning, I searched your Substack for “resistance,” and I found (among other things) “The Resistance Matryoshka.”
I definitely can be resistant to resistance (and I probably also add additional layers sometimes).
Filing this:

Instead of trying to stop anything, add one sentence that’s factually true in experience:
“Resistance is present.”
“Another resistance is present.”
“Judgement is present.”
“Tightness is present.”
“Thoughts are present.”
That’s it.
No “and therefore.”
No strategy.

After a miserable start to the day, I managed to be mostly okay about feeling crappy and sluggish and not wanting to do anything useful. (It helps that the more oppressive things on my to-do list didn’t need to be done immediately.)

What did you experience in the last 24 hours that you would describe as suffering?
Has your attitude to this changed from before?
Are you still laughing when you discover that you have overlaid a happening with a story of meaning?

v

What did you experience in the last 24 hours that you would describe as suffering?

Hmm . . . If I could replay the past 24 hours on fast-forward, I’m sure I would come across some times where a layer of “suffering” (second arrow) got spread over some “pain” (first arrow), but the fact that nothing in particular immediately comes to mind is itself noteworthy.
I don’t think there was much pain in the past 24 hours, so there weren’t many opportunities to add suffering, so this stretch of time might not be typical, but still, I don’t want to dismiss that I apparently went 24 hours without any memorable suffering.

Has your attitude to this changed from before?

I’m not entirely sure what you’re asking. Do you mean, like, how do I feel about how suffering gets replaced not with equal-and-opposite happiness but with nothing, i.e., just ordinary life?
Well, I guess I’ll take it.
Maybe I’m becoming resigned to the fact that suffering gets replaced with nothing?
Or maybe I’m acquiring a taste for that “nothing”?
Or maybe I just happen to be okay with it today?

But now, a while back, you seemed to be suggesting that I’d misunderstood one of your stories when I thought it was saying that suffering gets replaced with nothing. But I don’t think I ever entirely clarified what I supposed to be getting from it. Just went back to look. It was “The Thing You Won’t Notice When It’s Gone.”

Are you still laughing when you discover that you have overlaid a happening with a story of meaning?

Nope. Only tried that for a day or two, I think.
Sometimes I probably just mentally roll my eyes when I notice that I’ve been adding stories. That seems okay.
Of course, sometimes I get discouraged or worse, thus adding another layer of suffering.

Opened up your story for the day. Suspected what it might be about from the illustration. The main character’s name clinched it. Gave me a warm cozy feeling.

Looking at things freshly. I’ve filed it.

P.S. This was probably clear, but since "today" can be different for you and me, I was talking about "Can Old Be New Now?"

I also appreciated "The Question the Mirror Couldn't Answer," and how questions about "(un)awakened" identity can work similarly to various sorts of identity questions.

The fact that nothing in particular immediately comes to mind is itself noteworthy.

Yes. Don’t dismiss it, and don’t promote it into an awakening score either. Twenty-four hours without memorable suffering is simply what happened. The fact that there was little pain may have provided fewer opportunities—but previously the mind could create suffering from remarkably modest ingredients.

Maybe I’m becoming resigned to the fact that suffering gets replaced with nothing? Or maybe I’m acquiring a taste for that “nothing”?

The second description feels closer, although there’s no need to settle it.

“The Thing You Won’t Notice When It’s Gone” wasn’t saying that suffering disappears and leaves an experiential blank. It was saying that nothing equivalent needs to replace it. Remove a stone from a shoe and walking remains; there isn’t necessarily an ecstatic “stone-free experience.” There is simply walking without that particular irritation.

Likewise, when the second arrow isn’t added, ordinary life remains: sensations, thoughts, tasks, sunlight, warm cosy feelings, mental eye-rolls, pleasure and occasional pain. The “nothing” is only the absence of an extra problem—not the absence of life.

Perhaps what is developing is a taste for experience that doesn’t announce itself as special. That may initially resemble resignation because thought expected liberation to feel more impressive.

When I asked whether your attitude had changed, I meant: is suffering still being treated as a spiritual emergency—as evidence that something has failed or that awakening must urgently occur? Or is it increasingly something that sometimes happens, hurts and passes?

Sometimes I probably just mentally roll my eyes when I notice that I’ve been adding stories.

That seems perfectly adequate. Laughing was never meant to become a practice requirement. Laughter, an eye-roll, discouragement or no particular reaction can all occur. The useful change is not producing the approved response; it is that the story may be recognised before it recruits ten more stories to explain what its appearance means.

And this made me smile:

Looking at things freshly. I’ve filed it.

Of course the mind filed the instruction to look freshly. That’s what filing systems do. :-)

Yes, questions about being “awake” or “unawake” can function like other identity questions: thought expects experience to reveal which noun belongs to K. But experiencing doesn’t arrive wearing an identity label.

When pain next appears, forget the arrow terminology for a moment and look closely: At what exact point does an unpleasant happening become “a problem for K”? What has been added—and can the K to whom it supposedly belongs be found?

v

—but previously the mind could create suffering from remarkably modest ingredients.

Yes, indeed: from thoughts plus bodily sensations than are generally no more than mildly uncomfortable. The mind still does that. But it does seem to be happening less.

Remove a stone from a shoe and walking remains; there isn’t necessarily an ecstatic “stone-free experience.” There is simply walking without that particular irritation.
. . . . .
The “nothing” is only the absence of an extra problem—not the absence of life.

Okay, so I did understand what you were saying (though maybe I didn’t say it very well, or not in the way you would say it). It was just disappointing to acknowledge and accept that I won’t necessarily get an ecstatic, stone-free experience.

Perhaps what is developing is a taste for experience that doesn’t announce itself as special. That may initially resemble resignation because thought expected liberation to feel more impressive.

Yes, perhaps.

When I asked whether your attitude had changed, I meant: is suffering still being treated as a spiritual emergency—as evidence that something has failed or that awakening must urgently occur? Or is it increasingly something that sometimes happens, hurts and passes?

Both. But, yeah, increasingly the latter, I think.

On the issue of feeling like awakening must urgently occur, there’s a bit of softening of that, as evidenced, for instance, by a couple of times recently when I didn’t look at your post immediately upon receiving the notification (but I usually still do!) and a number of times recently, like this morning, when I’ve done some work before starting or continuing to write a response to you, even though my work could have reasonably been put off.

Also, I think I’m probably not so often going directly from “I’m miserable” to “I need to wake up” (implying: to prevent this in the future).

Of course the mind filed the instruction to look freshly. That’s what filing systems do. :-)

Yup.

When pain next appears, forget the arrow terminology for a moment and look closely: At what exact point does an unpleasant happening become “a problem for K”? What has been added—and can the K to whom it supposedly belongs be found?

Well, let’s see . . .

This morning, when I was about to leave the house, spouse asked me to try to start our malfunctioning treadmill, which he uses daily for physical and mental well-being. (I’m the electronics-whisperer in our household.) It took me almost ten minutes of turning it off and on, randomly pushing buttons, and shaking it to get it started.

This began as mainly an “unpleasant happening,” delaying my desired departure and dealing with something that “shouldn’t” be happening and that involves more luck than skill.
It drifted toward being “a problem for K” probably when I started to have thoughts about how I really need to make an appointment to get a repair person here (which will involve phone calls, which I hate, various sorts of inconvenience, dealing with strangers, and possibly a bunch of money). So I guess thoughts about the future were the main thing added?

And can I find the K to whom this problem supposedly belongs?
Well, this ever-changing pattern of perceptions and thoughts conventionally known by my name is presumably going to include further thoughts and sensations related to the darned treadmill in the coming days or weeks. At the moment, I can’t figure out what else to do with the issue of finding the one to whom that’s a problem. It seems like there’s “someone” there, even if it’s not some sort of ongoing essential “self” underlying the thoughts and perceptions.

I feel like I can do more with this question: How is that a problem?
So, there will be more thoughts about this issue, and many of them may have an emotional tone of frustration, annoyance, and worry. And that’s a problem because . . . it’s unpleasant? That doesn’t seem quite so self-evidently like a problem as it used to.

Last night, I was reminding myself of my discovery that I don’t have to be afraid of the productions of my own mind. I think I still mostly am afraid of certain sorts of productions of my mind, but that’s maybe easing up just a bit.

When pain next appears, forget the arrow terminology for a moment and look closely: At what exact point does an unpleasant happening become “a problem for K”? What has been added—and can the K to whom it supposedly belongs be found?

Returning to that:

Something that seems to almost instantly become “a problem for K” is when anyone asks me to do something that I don’t particularly want to do, especially if it doesn’t seem very important or if it seems like that person could or should do it themselves or ask someone else to do it.
I think you would say that the origin of that isn’t really relevant, besides probably not being entirely knowable, but here’s my theory anyway:
I think it probably comes from my history of autistic exhaustion and burnout and feeling like my time and energy are a limited and precious commodity that I can’t afford to squander.

My husband is aware of this general issue (though, it occurs to me, not in precisely the terms I just put it), and he has been working for a while on not asking me to do things he can do himself, even if I could do them better or more quickly than he can (back to my being the one who deals with electronics and also anything mechanical or involving spatial relations, while he’s the one who handles things that involve social finesse, like politely turning down a dinner invitation).

OK, so:
Someone asks me to do something.
Evemore if it’s a reasonable request, I almost instantly feel resistant and put-upon, in a way that does not seem like merely “an unpleasant happening” but more like “a problem for K.”
Any helpful insights here?

OK, so:
Someone asks me to do something.
Evemore if it’s a reasonable request, I almost instantly feel resistant and put-upon, in a way that does not seem like merely “an unpleasant happening” but more like “a problem for K.”
Any helpful insights here?

Yes. A request may be getting translated almost instantly into a threat (to autonomy?) ..or a belief that autistic overload is about to happen.

The spoken event might be: “Would you do this?”
But the nervous system may hear: “Your time is no longer yours. You must comply. You aren’t free to say no. Someone else’s wishes now control you. If you don't comply, the consequences will be very unpleasant ”

If that translation happens before conscious thought, the reasonableness of the request won’t matter much. The resistance is already present by the time K evaluates it.

This resembles demand sensitivity or psychological reactance. It can develop through many conditions—past experiences of being controlled, difficulty changing course, fear of disappointing people, or the effort involved in reorganising plans. It doesn’t require a diagnosis, and it isn’t selfishness or spiritual failure.

The useful move may be to give the reaction space without immediately obeying either the request or the resistance:

“Let me think about that and get back to you.”

That pause changes the conditions. The body can settle, the request can become a request again rather than a command, and a response—yes, no, later or a negotiated alternative—can emerge without the first flash of resistance deciding everything.

For Inquiry, slow the instant down:

• the person speaks;
• contraction or irritation appears;
• an impulse to resist arises;
• thought says, “I’m being put upon”;
• the situation becomes “a problem for K.”

The initial contraction is an unpleasant happening. The personal problem is created when it acquires a meaning about K’s freedom, obligations or relationship with the requester.

Don’t try to eliminate that first flash. Instead, complete this sentence without making it reasonable:

“When someone asks me to do something, it means ______.”

Perhaps: “I no longer have a choice,” “My needs don’t matter,” “I’ll be bad if I refuse,” or “Someone is trying to control me.”

Then look: In the actual request, is K’s freedom already gone—or has thought imagined a trapped K and begun defending her?


v

“Let me think about that and get back to you.”

Ah, yes. Simply pausing, when possible, is good.
(And a nice thing that can happen in that pause is that the requester might decide to do it themselves or decide it doesn’t actually need to be done.)

The initial contraction is an unpleasant happening. The personal problem is created when it acquires a meaning about K’s freedom, obligations or relationship with the requester.

Yeah, OK. It’s helpful to note that the initial contraction or irritation is part of the “unpleasant happening,” not part of the “problem for K.” And maybe the initial impulse to resist is too?

“When someone asks me to do something, it means ______.”

. . . I can’t do what I want?
. . . my time is being taken up by something I didn’t choose?
. . . I have two bad options: doing it or saying no?
(I wrote those before scrolling down to see what you suggested. Very similar.)

Then look: In the actual request, is K’s freedom already gone—or has thought imagined a trapped K and begun defending her?

I know the “right” answer, but . . .
In the sense that I merely hear or read some words that someone directed at me, it’s hard to say my freedom is already gone. And even the fact that I understood those words to be a request doesn’t, I guess, mean freedom is gone.
But it doesn’t feel much like “freedom” if, sure, I can say no, but then they’ll be hurt or offended or mad or something, and I’ll have to deal with that.
I do see that the apparent loss of freedom is found only in how I imagine they’ll react if I say no (and of course I might be wrong) and how I imagine I’ll react to their reaction.
But, I dunno. That all might correspond with reality.
I don’t quite seem to be seeing my way out of this.
Help?

********************************************
By the way, a couple days ago, I spent an hour talking with the founder of the little retreat center that’s the heart of our primary religious and social community. She was my spiritual director for a few years a long time ago, but I can’t remember the last time I talked with her in depth about my spiritual life, though we chat all the time. I wanted to fill her in on what’s been going on with me for the past couple years. The retreat center is steeped in Christian contemplative spirituality, but there are a couple of zafus in the chapel (one donated by me and my husband), and as I think I might’ve mentioned, a frequent refrain of hers recently is “Here. Now. This.” So she more or less gets what I’m doing. She even seemed on board with language about realization of no-self.

Anyway, the main thing I wanted to share with you was that it was clear to her that something good had been going on with me for the last several months, and she’d wondered if I was taking a new medication. Nope. :-)

Yes—the initial contraction and the impulse to resist are both part of the automatic happening. There may be no clean boundary where the “first arrow” ends and the personal problem begins, so don’t make identifying that boundary another task.

And you’re right: the person may actually be hurt, offended or angry if you say no. Inquiry isn’t asking you to pretend otherwise.

The hidden definition of freedom seems to be: “I am free only if I can say yes or no without an unpleasant consequence.” But neither of you controls the whole exchange. A response arises here; another response arises there. Sometimes not everyone will be comfortable.

Perhaps the trap is not the request itself, but the requirement that there must be an option in which K keeps her time, avoids resentment, disappoints nobody and feels entirely okay.

A boundary sometimes means allowing another person to be disappointed without making their disappointment your wrongdoing or your responsibility to remove.

And do let this land: someone who has known you for years noticed enough positive change to wonder whether you were taking new medication. You didn’t have to explain or advertise the change; it was visible.

Is K trapped by the request—or by the demand that there must be a response that leaves everyone comfortable?


v