The Benefits of Meditation and the Illusion of the Seeker

We often find ourselves looking for the donkey while we are already sitting on its back. It is a strange human comedy, this seeking for what is already present, this striving to reach a destination that we have never actually left. We talk about the benefits of meditation as if they were rewards at the end of a long, dusty road, but who is it that is traveling? And where could they possibly go if the absolute is indeed absolute? If the totality is truly everything, it must include us right here, in this very moment of distraction or clarity, without exception. There is a common misunderstanding that we are separate selves who must perform certain actions to achieve a state called enlightenment. But liberation is never of the separate self; it is liberation from the separate self. It is the realization that the one trying to meditate, the one trying to "get it," is actually the only thing standing in the way of noticing what is already here. We are like dreamers who dream they are sick and spend the whole dream searching for a cure, only to wake up and realize they were never ill, and more importantly, they were never that specific character in the dream at all. They were the entire dream. When we sit in silence, we aren't practicing to become something else. Silence isn't a goal; it is the background that allows noise to be noticed. It is like the silence beneath the roar of a crowded room. The noise doesn't destroy the silence, and the silence doesn't need to get rid of the noise to be itself. They exist simultaneously. In the same way, the benefits of meditation can be seen as a way of harmonizing the body-mind, but they have nothing to do with the nature of our deep identity. On a horizontal level, the level of our daily lives, there is much to be said for a quiet mind. We can observe how we use language to hide rather than reveal, or how we speak too much to discharge anxiety. We can notice the chronic tensions in the body that we’ve carried for years without knowing. As we relax, the body-mind functions more efficiently. The immune system strengthens, the breath becomes a form of nourishment, and we might even find a little space between a provocation and our usual automatic reaction. These are real, tangible shifts. A body that is relaxed and a mind that is less cluttered by useless thoughts about the future or the past is certainly a more harmonious way to live. However, we must be frank with each other. If we use meditation as a tool to reach the infinite in the future, we are simply diluting the present. We are creating a mental structure where an "I" does something now to get something later. This is the ultimate trap. How can you practice being what you already are? If the absolute is not here now, it isn't the absolute. If you are not already the ocean, no amount of waving will turn you into water. The body-mind may improve, it may heal, and it may find states of profound peace or non-ordinary consciousness. These are all beautiful expressions of the totality, just as a storm or a headache is an expression of the totality. But none of these states are "it." States come and go. Even the most solid sense of quietude can be shattered when life hits hard. If our freedom depended on maintaining a specific state of mind, we would be the most fragile beings in existence. But who is the one who loses the quiet? Who is the one who feels distracted? We often think of distraction as a movement away from being, but distraction is just another movement of being itself. There is no separation. There is no difference between the person meditating in a cave and the person causing chaos in the world when viewed from the perspective of the whole. It is all the same dance, the same aware presence manifesting in infinite forms. We often get caught up in the idea of a journey because the mind loves to learn. We learn to play the piano or solve complex equations through time and effort. We go from the simple to the complex. But the exploration of what we are is the opposite. it goes from the complex to the simple. It is a process of undoing, of stripping away the layers of "me" and "my progress" until only this remains. And "this" is not a result. It is the open, aware space in which every thought, every sensation, and every breath appears. So, why do we sit together in silence? Not to achieve a result, but perhaps because the manifestation of sitting is simply what is happening. When we stop trying to use silence as a medicine to fix a "me" that doesn't exist, we might notice the beauty of the silence itself. It is a space where the separate self doesn't need to defend its opinions or reach its goals. It is a co-regulation of presence, a shared recognition of the absolute without the need for spiritual chatter or separate self-driven teachings. In this space, we see that the seeker and the sought are the same thing. The one looking for the donkey is the one riding it. Any effort to find the donkey only keeps the rider from noticing the seat beneath them. Meditation may bring comfort now, it may clear the fog of the mind and relax the muscles of the body, but there is nowhere to go. There is no "there" that is better than "here." When the film is playing on the screen, the screen doesn't become the characters in the movie. It doesn't get wet when it rains on screen, and it doesn't burn when there is a fire. It is simply the condition that allows the film to be seen. You are that screen. Whether the movie is a tragedy or a comedy, whether the character is meditating or lost in thought, the screen remains untouched, open, and already complete. Can we stay with the paradox? That we may sit to find peace, yet the peace we seek is the very thing that allows us to feel restless. That we may seek to improve the body-mind while realizing that no improvement brings us closer to the totality than we already are. There is no path to the present. You are already at the destination, even when you are convinced you are lost.