The Eye You Cannot See: Why Meditation Techniques Are Not the Way Home

It is a curious thing, this habit we have of searching for the glasses that are already sitting on our nose. We run through the rooms of our lives, frantic and breathless, asking everyone we meet if they have seen our sight, never realizing that the very act of looking is proof that what we seek was never lost. There is a common story told in the spiritual world about a group of ten friends who crossed a river. Upon reaching the other side, they counted themselves to ensure everyone was safe, but each man who counted only saw nine others. They wept for their lost companion, drowning in a grief that was entirely unnecessary, because the counter had forgotten to count himself. They were always ten. They were always complete. But the idea that someone was missing generated a world of suffering. This is the loop we find ourselves in when we engage with various **meditation techniques**. We treat this stillness as if they were ladders leading to a high balcony called enlightenment. We imagine that if we sit long enough, breathe deeply enough, or silence the mind with enough discipline, we will eventually reach a state of being that is different from this one. But who is the one trying to reach it? And where is this "there" that is not already "here"? When we use a technique to find the absolute, we are effectively saying that the absolute is not here right now. We are suggesting that the totality is somehow waiting for us to finish a course or master a posture before it deigns to reveal itself. But the absolute, if it is truly infinite, cannot have an outside. It must include the seeker, the seeking, and even the feeling of being lost. You cannot be the only "unlucky" one standing outside of an infinity that supposedly includes everything. If you are here, the absolute is here. Meditation may indeed bring a sense of comfort; it may make the body-mind feel more relaxed or quiet the noise of daily life for a moment. That is perfectly fine. It is like cleaning the windows of a house—it makes the view clearer, but it doesn't create the world outside. The problem arises when we mistake the cleaning of the window for the destination itself. Think of the screen in a cinema. A film is projected onto it—there is drama, war, love, and tears. The screen is never burned by the fire in the movie, nor is it ever wet from the rain on screen. The separate self is like a character in that film, trying very hard to find the screen. The character thinks, "If I perform the right **meditation techniques**, perhaps I will finally encounter the screen." But the character *is* the screen, appearing as a character. There is no journey for the screen to take to find itself. It is already the ground upon which every movement occurs. We are often told that we must "understand" or "comprehend" the truth to be free. In our Western world, understanding is our greatest weapon. We use it to control reality.