The Donkey and the Rider: Why Meditation is Just Another Word for What Is

There is a humorous irony in the spiritual search that often goes unnoticed by the weary seeker. It is like a man frantically running around a field, crying out that he has lost his donkey, all while he is firmly seated upon its back. We look for peace, for clarity, or for some grand awakening as if these were treasures buried in a future moment, yet the very looking is the movement of the absolute itself. We are already at the destination because there was never a distance to travel. When we talk about the body-mind and its various activities, we often get caught in the trap of thinking we are making progress. We think that by sitting still or silencing the mind, we are building a ladder to the divine. But who is climbing? And where would they go? The separate self loves the idea of a journey because a journey implies a traveler, and as long as there is a traveler, the illusion of separation remains intact. In reality, liberation is never of the separate self; it is from the separate self. It is the realization that the one who thinks they are meditating, achieving, or failing is merely a character in a dream. In our modern world, we often use meditation as a tool for self-improvement, and there is nothing wrong with that. On a horizontal level, the body-mind can certainly benefit from a quieter nervous system or a more focused intellect. Meditation may bring comfort now, but it is not a this moment. It is simply another expression of the totality. For some, the body-mind is moved to sit in silence; for others, it is moved to walk through a crowded street. Both are the perfect dance of what is. To suggest that one must meditate to reach the absolute is like saying a wave must be still to become the ocean. The wave is the ocean, whether it is crashing violently against the rocks or shimmering in a calm breeze. Perhaps meditation another word for simply noticing the background of silence that underlies all noise. We often focus so intently on the figures in the foreground—our thoughts, our anxieties, our fleeting joys—that we miss the screen upon which the entire film is projected. Silence is not something you practice; it is what appears when the seeker stops seeking. It is the "aware presence" that remains when the drama of "me" takes a momentary rest. We often hear about the need to go into the present or transcend the present, but the present isn't a place you can enter or leave. It is the only thing that is. It is the timeless condition that allows the body-mind to exist with all its experiences and appearances. Some might say they aren't certain they exist because the "I am" feels tied to the body-mind. But notice that even that doubt requires a presence to be known. There is a conscious presence that is prior to the thought "I am," prior to the name you were given, and prior to the history you carry. This presence is not a result of any practice. It is what you already are.