The Wa: An Exploration into Living and Being

Consider a thought experiment:

Consider that your life, exactly as it is right now, is exactly the way it is supposed to be. That is, consider that no mistakes were made by you or anyone else, nor were you the victim of bad (or good) luck. Consider that even the stuff that seems terrible, that “should” be different, whether it be being ill, not having a job or relationship, having a job or relationship that seems awful, lacking purpose or meaning, the general state of the world, et cetera, et cetera—that all of it is exactly as it is supposed to be (“supposed to be” is a term for our thought experiment—nothing more.)

How is your experience affected by this perspective? What happens to your sense of possibilities for the future?

Now drop the enforced perspective and watch what happens. Watch carefully—it is very telling what happens next.

(Could it really be that simple?)

I strongly urge against adopting a belief about this stuff.

Listen deeply, but question all teachers and teachings; look directly for yourself; be honest with yourself; share what you see with others. These are the best guidelines I know for exploring.

Some people have asked me to write about what has changed for me after four years of studying non-dualism and leading the Wa explorations, so I share here some of my reflections.

* * *

Reality is. It is present now. It cannot be explained. It is unfolding even as you read these words. It is whole.

Our thoughts and actions are part of reality. They belong to reality. We think they belong to us. And that’s where the problems begin.

Within reality, within the experience of reality granted to us, a common context generally frames what is experienced, namely, that there is a separate, individual agent (“me”) thinking and acting by its own cause.

The agent is ultimately separate from, even if related to, the greater outside. And it is responsible for making this life work. It is therefore generally afraid. And it develops patterns for coping, both to make things work and to deal with the fear.

These patterns affect the experiences that arise. Because the patterns shape the experience of reality, new circumstances get organized by these patterns so that nothing substantive appears to change. If staying very busy is a coping pattern, then busyness will happen regardless of the change in “external” circumstances. In this sense, we can say that the reality we experience is a projection of our coping patterns.

From the context of being a separate agent, reality is always incomplete. Something is missing or something needs to be done. The flavor of everyday experience is that things should be different. But reality is exactly as it is. Interpretations, emotions, memories, thoughts—all are aspects of reality. And all are exactly as they are right now.

The flavor “should be different” is the essence of suffering. Living from the sense of separateness, of incompleteness, reality shows up in a limited fashion, shaped again and again by our coping patterns. The coping patterns are held fiercely in place by the fear that arises from being alone and at risk in a greater universe.

Reality is and it unfolds as it does. Our actions and thoughts belong to reality. As we let go of our sense of being separate causal agents, the coping patterns become less solid. The inherent richness of reality reveals itself more readily.

Beyond the coping patterns, which really aren’t very interesting, is something really interesting about each of us. I have begun referring to is as the “presence wave”—which is a way of describing how our simple presence shifts the space for others’ experience of reality. All of us have (or perhaps I should say “are”) a presence wave. The presence wave is modified by moods and emotions, and over time it can evolve in new ways, but a basic underlying pattern appears to remain all of our lives. This pattern reveals itself in the space others report they experience around us—the space in which they can show up. The presence wave is not something consciously projected. It is simply there.

Recognizing the “shape” of one’s presence wave appears to be helpful in allowing us to trust that our normal feverish attention to coping patterns is not necessary. The richer, more interesting, more contributory effects we have on others happen without us doing anything. It comes with our presence. Actions accompany presence, of course, but many of these actions flow without much conscious direction.

In the already existing presence wave, one can identify a pattern to one’s life, even daresay, a purpose. The purpose is not something to be decided. It is already there, already affecting others. It is to be discerned, appreciated, and “relaxed into.”

We are of reality, and reality is of us. All of the above is pointing to this statement.

In Advaita, the most fundamental statement one can make is, “I am.” Let’s examine it.

I am.

From which I deduce the following statements:

There is existence.

I am aware of existence.

I exist, at least, as an awareness of existence.

So, I can be sure of this statment: I exist as an awareness of existence. Or, I exist as an awareness of being.

I exist as an awareness of being.

Can we know anything about ourselves more directly? Can there be any understanding of what we are more fundamental than this one?

Besides the Ghost, the Organism, and Thou (see earlier posts), another type of “I” exists: the “I” that comes forth in a relationship with another. Since we generally assume that “I” exist as a unique and willful individual, we assume that I am consistently myself with others, or that any variations I exhibit are of my own choosing. Wrong.

Every relationship calls forth an “I” depicting itself as me. I say “depicting” because these “I”s are unique to each relationship—none of them are ultimately me. The “I” that shows up with one friend will be different from the “I” that show up with another; both will be different from the various “I”s that show up with my family members, and so on. And not only are they different, there is no unified “I” controlling these variations: they just happen in the space generated by two Organisms interacting.

Note that we like some of the “I”s, but not others, which parallels the relationships we like and dislike. Not surprisingly, we like being around others whose presence calls forth an “I” that we like. And we dislike those relationships in which the “I” that shows up is unappealing to us.

Again, using the term “I” might get confusing here, so I suggest the need for designating these called-forth “I”s: Manifestations, Roles, Incarnations? Any preferences or recommendations?

On an overnight flight to Europe last night, I thought to myself, “I’m tired.” But as I looked further, I realized that “Thou” can never be tired. Thou cannot have any qualities. It is adjective-less. Thou is the space in which all experience and all possible experiences appear. It itself, however, can never be experienced as something, or as something with qualities.

So what happens when I say, “I’m tired”?

An experience is generated (though not ultimately caused) by the Organism—as all experiences are. The experience is neither good nor bad, nor does it belong to or define anyone. Most commonly, Thou assumes the existence of an “I” to which the experience belongs, thus bringing into existence the Ghost. The Ghost is created by assumption but never exists as an actual entity. Suddenly, what Thou appears to be, is a small, separate entity with the quality of tiredness. Thou has hidden itself from itself.

The Ghost exists and does not exist. Let us begin with how it does not exist. It does not exist in the way we presume it to exist: as the controller of our actions. It does not have any control over the actions of the Organism. It arises because of a belief by Thou that what I am is an entity separate from everything else—I am the agent responsible for my thoughts and actions.

It does exist in that the belief that creates it produces a condition for how we experience life. The belief in there being a controller (the agent or doer as Ramesh says) gives rise to suffering in the forms of various moods, especially guilt, resentment, and anxiety.

Where are these moods? They affect the Organism, altering its perception, cognition, and capacity for action. The experience they generate belongs to Thou, as all experience does. So the Ghost does not exist in the way we believe it to exist, but the belief in its existence creates moods that alter how the Organism moves and how Thou experiences life.

Where does the belief in the Ghost exist? We could say that it also exists in the Organism, inasmuch as it is a form of cognitive content. But it must arise in Thou.

Can Thou let go of the belief? Yes and no. Yes, of course it can, in that the belief arose in Thou. And no, in the sense that Thou does not exercise independent control (the belief that it does is the very one we are discussing getting rid of.) Everything that happens is an expression of Thou, since Thou is the One. Therefore the arising of the belief and its disappearance are expressions of Thou, of the One.

Chris

One of the challenges in conversations about the nature of what we are is the confusion created by the lack of words to distinguish different dimensions of the phenomena “you” or “I.” I share here my first attempt at inventing some distinctions for speaking about these phenomena. I introduce the distinctions by considering the three types of ‘you’ I currently see.

There is the ‘you’ that arises from the belief in having control of your actions. Let us designate this ‘you’ the “Ghost.”

The second ‘you’ is what Ramesh Balsekar calls the body-mind mechanism. This ‘you’—let us designate it the “Organism”—is what life acts through. The Organism performs actions, in the sense of eating, walking, driving, and also, requesting, promising, assessing, etc.

The third ‘you’ is the pure subjectivity in which all experience shows up. Let us designate it, a little poetically perhaps, “Thou.” It is the most difficult to designate because it is not an object and therefore ultimately unnamable.

We at least now have three different designations to enable a level of shared rigor in the conversation, which opens the space for further exploration.

Chris

A dozen of us just completed the twelfth Wa this past weekend. I left with the same sense I have left the other explorations—grateful for the remarkable space it provides for going deeply into life with others. And, once again, I am very clear it is not of my doing. This event, in particular, produced lots of reflections for me about the nature of the “me,” which I share here.

Action happens through the body-mind systems we are. The “me” arises when that-which-we-are believes we are the agents controlling our actions and navigating our pathways through life.

The arising of the “me” alters the moods that the body-mind system is in: with the “me,” guilt, shame, envy, and anxiety all become fairly common moods. These moods in turn, alter the possibilities of perception and action available to the body-mind system. So, the arising of the “me” does alter our possibilities, even though the “me” itself has no direct control over these possibilities.

The “me,” however, does not cause its own arising since it cannot actually cause anything, nor, since it has no causal power, can it cause its own disappearance. The “me” is a product of the belief in the illusion of control. That which believes can also stop believing, which results in the disappearance of the “me” as a source of suffering. The paradox one encounters is that if we are not in control, then we cannot will ourselves to stop believing. In the moment one fully realizes this fact, however, one has disappeared the “me” and the conversation becomes moot.

The moment the belief in control returns—which is a natural, uncaused arising—the “me” is back. At least that’s what happens for me.

Chris

In response to Mike’s post that maybe sentience does not re-emerge:

I don’t think that’s possible. I see two perspectives, either of which lead me to the same conclusion.

First, from a scientific viewpoint, add infinite time to the stirrings of the universe, and eventually some configuration involving sentience is certain to arise. Why am I sure? Because it already has, and we’re allowing infinite time for it to happen again.

From the Advaita perspective, the very nature of existence is awareness. Existence demands awareness. I AM is a statement of the awareness of existence. From nothingness arises the sense of existence–that is the fundamental movement. I see this argument as one that can be intuitively grasped, rather than proven.

What we are, as sentience, cannot be destroyed.

Let me share a thought experiment with you. I recommend you play with it yourself.

For simplicity’s sake, assume that our planet is the only planet in the universe with life on it.

Now imagine that all life on the planet is completely destroyed—nothing is left alive.

What happens to the universe?

Consider:
Nothing would be seen, since seeing happens only for living creatures with eyes and nervous systems.
Nothing would be heard, since sound is also a phenomenon of experience.
Nothing would be felt (as sensations)—not heat, cold, presence, or absence.
And time would have no duration, since duration is an experiential quality.

Whatever was left would be neither light nor dark; neither loud nor quiet; neither felt nor unfelt; and would “move” through the rest of existence instantly (without duration.)

What would happen next?

Sentience would re-emerge (seemingly instantly, even if billions of years later, future scientists determined it took hundreds of billions of years to do so.)

Simultaneously, form and time would come back into existence.

One conclusion: our universe requires an experiencer and will never be without one.