The Donkey and the Rider: Why Tantric Meditation is Not a Path to What You Already Are

It is a funny thing, this spiritual search. We spend years, perhaps decades, looking for the donkey while we are already sitting on its back. We look for a state of grace, a moment of awakening, or a shift in consciousness, all while ignoring the very presence that allows the search to happen in the first place. There is a profound laughter that arises when we realize that the being we are looking for is already here, and it has never been absent. We talk about liberation as if it is something the "I" achieves, but liberation is never of the separate self; it is always from the separate self. The separate self is not a solid entity. It has no substance of its own. It is more like a psychological function, a way the body-mind relates to its environment. We often mistake this function for a permanent "me" that needs to be improved, purified, or enlightened. But who is this "me" that wants to recognize what you already are? If the separate self is an illusion, can an illusion recognize what you already are? It is like a character in a dream searching for the dreamer. The character can go on a long pilgrimage, practice intense austerities, and study sacred texts within the dream, but none of that brings them closer to the dreamer. The dreamer is already the very substance of the character and the entire dream world. When we speak of tantric meditation, we are not talking about a ladder to reach the absolute. The absolute is not at the top of a mountain; it is the mountain, the climber, and the air between them. In certain traditions, there is a tendency to treat meditation as a tool for self-improvement, a way to uproot mental impurities. This horizontal movement—trying to become a better version of ourselves—is perfectly fine for daily life. It is like learning to play an instrument or taking care of the body. But this horizontal progress has nothing to do with the vertical reality of what you already are. The absolute is not conditioned by whether the mind is quiet or noisy, whether the body is healthy or sick, or whether the separate self feels "spiritual" or not. Consider the nature of an emotion. Usually, an emotion like anger or fear grabs our attention and pins it onto an object. If we are angry, we are focused on the person who offended you. If we are afraid, we are focused on the threat. The emotion itself remains invisible because we are too busy looking at what it is pointing toward. In the context of tantric meditation, there is a shift. Instead of following the emotion toward the object, there is a staying still, a feeling of the energy itself. This isn't about "fixing" the emotion or making it go away. It is about seeing that the energy of that emotion is actually pure conscious presence. There is a story of a master who provoked his disciple to such a point of rage that the disciple chased him with an axe.