The Donkey and the Rider: Why You Cannot Seek to Abide Meditation

There is a peculiar humor in the spiritual search, a kind of divine comedy that we all seem to play out. We act like a person frantically running around a field, crying out that they have lost their donkey, all while they are firmly seated on the animal’s back. We look for "the absolute" or "conscious presence" as if it were a distant destination, a peak to be climbed, or a secret to be unlocked through years of effort. But who is it that is looking? And where could you possibly go to find what is already the totality of everything? We often hear about the need to abide meditation or to find a way to remain in a state of aware presence. But let’s be frank: the separate self cannot "abide" in anything. The separate self is a function, a psychological unit that helps us navigate the world, but it is not a solid entity that can possess enlightenment. Liberation is never *of* the separate self; it is liberation *from* the separate self. It is the realization that the character in the dream—the one who thinks they are sick, the one who thinks they are seeking a cure—is not who you are. You are the dream itself. You are the dreamer, the bed, the illness, and the cure, all appearing at once. When we talk about meditation, we must be careful not to turn it into another ladder. If we think we are practicing today to reach something tomorrow, we are simply putting the binoculars on backward. We are pushing away the very thing that is closer than our own breath by projecting it into a non-existent future. The absolute is not a result of a process. In the ancient Pali texts, they use the word *asancata*, which means "unconditioned" or "not made." If you could produce enlightenment through a practice, it would be a conditioned thing—a product of your effort— and therefore it would be subject to time and decay. But what you already are is not made. It is the silent screen upon which the film of your life is projected. The film can be a tragedy or a comedy, it can be full of noise or quiet, but the screen remains untouched, ever-present, and already complete. This doesn't mean we should stop meditating. If meditation appears in the body-mind, it is a beautiful expression of the absolute, just like singing or dancing. It might make the body-mind feel better; it might loosen the tensions of a day spent in the traffic of the world. It can de-automatize our perceptions, allowing us to see the dashboard of a car not just as a tool for survival, but as a kaleidoscope of light and mystery. But to say "I am meditating to recognize what I already am" is a trap. It is the wave trying to become the ocean. How can the wave become more "ocean" than it already is? Whether the wave is high and frothy or low and calm, its essence is water. You are already that water. We often feel alienated, as if we have wandered away from our authentic reality. We think we need to "return" to the source. But where could you go that is outside of the totality?