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When
I set out in earnest on the spiritual quest as a young college
student in the late sixties, there were certain images in
my mind of what enlightenment would look like. As an enlightened
being I imagined I would be "me," only with all the unwanted
aspects of my personality corrected. And, having access
to the limitless intelligence of the universe, I would of
course be brilliant. Best of all, my life would be transformed
into a blissful existence, a heaven-on-earth of perfect
health and perfect circumstances, totally apart and protected
from the disgusting, violent, selfish world I perceived
all around me.
 After
more than a quarter of a century had passed--consumed in intense
practice of meditation and yoga, fasting, study, long retreats
in foreign lands, and years of service to an Indian teacher--I
began to wonder, why hadn't enlightenment happened? Why hadn't
my personality been fixed? Why, by now, didn't my life look
like I imagined it should look?
By
the end of 1994 a deep discouragement had set in. Though
manybeautiful, even spectacular experiences had occurred
from time to time, though I had learned how to quiet the
mind and breath, though I had even experienced certain of
the siddhis (yogic powers), enlightenment had remained a
dream, a concept, existing in the mind only. It became obvious
that in spite of years of sincere effort, no real progress
had been made. Clearly there was a missing piece in my spiritual
repertoire. But what? I had done all my practices so devotedly,
for so long.
Into
that darkest and most frustrated hour of my spiritual quest
came a transmission of Grace so powerful that the mind was
stopped, the dream was shattered by Reality, all concepts
of enlightenment were quickly burned to ashes, and layer
after layer of false identification with mind was ruthlessly
cut. This transmission took the form of a teacher named
Gangaji, and emanated purely and directly from the lineage
of one of the most respected sages of this century, Sri
Ramana Maharshi.
 Gangaji
appeared in my life in the Spring of 1995 bearing a lei
of roses in one hand and a sword in the other. With the
roses she welcomed me, placing them around my neck in a
loving embrace; with the sword she severed my head. This
severing was only excruciating when I tried to cling to
my head, to "mind" as something real, as who I was. As this
illusion weakened, through the most unimaginable Grace,
I saw that both the sword and the roses were the same--simply
aspects of her infinite Love.
Gradually
she revealed this Love to be my own Love, my own Self--not
individual self as perceived by the mind, but true self,
beyond mind, what some call the Christ Self or the universal
Self--the ever-present Beloved.
Every
human being, whether consciously or unconsciously, hunts
for this Beloved Self in a thousand mental, emotional, and
sensory directions. This hunting goes on incessantly in
both the material and spiritual marketplaces of the world,
until finally, often by some encounter with a powerful reflection
of Self in someone or something, one is stopped--floored,
flattened, surrendered--and in the stillness of that, one
sees what has been overlooked, sees what has always been
present, sees finally all that has ever been longed for
is in reality who one has always been. In that seeing is
the awakening from a dream.
Many
people speculate on whether or not a human teacher is necessary
for this awakening, and in the past few years this question
has become a topic of heated debate. Some argue that the
intimate teacher/student relationship, so treasured and
honored in the mystical traditions of the past, is unnecessary
or inappropriate in this new age of conscious living. After
all, isn't the truth really within us?
 Theoretically,
of course, an outer teacher need not be necessary. What
everyone is seeking is nearer than breath, nearer than a
heartbeat. But the resolve and ruthlessness required to
cut the habit of mind identification is rare. Subtle indeed
are the ways in which the ego avoids annihilation, carefully
preserving itself even under the guise of "spiritual practice."
In
Arthur C. Clarke's famous story 2001, A Space Odyssey, the
HAL 9000 computer can be seen as a perfect metaphor for
the human ego. In the story, HAL is designed to run all
aspects of the space ship, including life-support systems.
When the crew notices that HAL has begun to make errors,
errors it is not willing to admit, they realize the computer
will have to be disconnected and the ship piloted via radio
signals from HAL's twin computer back on earth. But HAL
is not so easily disconnected. Its own preservation becomes
more important than the
service
to mankind for which it has been designed. It begins to
manipulate and destroy anything and anyone that threatens
its existence, anything that might expose the lie of its
betrayal.
The
human ego operates in much the same way. It also is not
so easily disconnected. Ego is pure illusion, created by
the mistaken identification with mind and all its projections--mental,
emotional, physical, and circumstantial--as who one is.
Like HAL, it will put up a mighty defense to protect this
illusion. Most people cannot see through the illusion, or
the defense, long enough to really sever the habit of mental
identification. It's like trusting HAL to sever its own
misguided circuits.
This
severing is traditionally the role of the guru, meaning
literally, "dispeller of darkness." The guru is not only
someone who has cut through the illusion, but one who reflects
so purely this limitless reality which we all are that our
own infinite Self can be seen reflected there. An indication
that one has met one's true teacher is in this seeing of
Self in the teacher, as in a spotless mirror.
This
seeing is mysterious. It cannot be deserved. It cannot be
bought. It cannot be explained or understood by the mind.
The only word that comes close to describing it is Grace.
It
is a mystery how this Grace may appear in one's life and
penetrate the dream of separation. From the moment I first
met Gangaji's eyes, Grace flooded every aspect of my life
like a raging river floods the countryside, drowning everything
in its wake, leaving no human-made structure intact, leaving
nothing as it was. In the beginning this drowning caused
much fear and struggling to arise. When everything one has
identified with as "self" is being dissolved, there is a
kind of death that is experienced. It has nothing to do
with physical death. It is the death of the "personal,"
the death of separateness. It is the spiritual death spoken
of in all the mystical traditions of the world, from St.
John of the Cross, to the Vedic hymns of India, to the ecstatic
poetry of the Sufis. It is a true death, a final death--a
death of identification with all that can die and all that
can be born. It is an awakening to eternity.
What
a shock it has been to discover that enlightenment has nothing
to do with the fulfillment of a personal wish list. Enlightenment
is not personal at all. Ironically, it is the preoccupation
with the personal, the clinging to mind and personality
as who we are, that obscures the unbelievable
Truth--enlightenment
is already here, already who we are!
To
all who have grown weary of the search, who feel a longing
that burns deep within their heart, a longing which they
know can never be satisfied through the usual avenues of
career, relationship, and acquisition, or which remains
unfulfilled after years of spiritual study and practice,
I offer this account of a meeting with Grace, of a dissolving
of the identification with the mind, of the end of a search
and the end of a searcher.
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