The Myth of Seeking and the Simplicity of Aware Presence

We spend so much time running toward a horizon that doesn't exist. There is a common misunderstanding that we are somehow incomplete and that through certain efforts or states, we will eventually arrive at a place of permanent peace. We talk about **mindful wellbeing** as if it were a trophy to be placed on a shelf after a long journey of self-improvement. But who is this "self" that is trying to improve? And where exactly do we think we are going? If we look closely at our experience, we see that the separate self is constantly engaged in a project. It wants to use meditation or silence as a ladder to climb out of its own perceived limitations. We treat the body-mind as a broken machine that needs fixing. We think that if we sit long enough or follow a master’s voice closely enough, we will finally recognize what we already are. But the truth is much more direct and perhaps a bit more unsettling for the seeker: there is no this moment because there is nowhere to go. You are already the absolute. The wave doesn't need to travel across the map to find the ocean; the wave is the ocean expressing itself as a wave. In our daily lives, we are often dominated by emotions that make themselves invisible by forcing our attention onto objects. If a tiger appears, we don't look at our fear; we look at the tiger. This is a survival mechanism of the body-mind. However, in our modern psychological landscape, we are often haunted by "tigers" that aren't there—anxieties about the future, regrets about the past, or the constant pressure to achieve a state of **mindful wellbeing**. When we use a practice like meditation, it isn't to reach a higher state of consciousness. It is simply a way to observe the sensations, the chronic tensions in the muscles, and the flow of thoughts without being immediately kidnapped by them. Noticing a tension can allow it to dissolve, and the body may feel better, but this isn't a spiritual achievement. It’s just the body-mind breathing a little easier. We often imagine that presence is something we have to "do" or "maintain." We worry that we "lost" our presence because we got angry or distracted. But how can you lose what you are? If you say, "I have lost my aware presence," you must be aware of that loss to even make the statement. Conscious presence is the screen upon which the movie of your life is projected. Whether the film shows a beautiful sunset or a violent storm, the screen remains untouched, unchanged, and ever-present. The screen doesn't need to "practice" being a screen. Similarly, the absolute doesn't care if the body-mind is currently experiencing balance or imbalance. To the totality, a moment of deep anxiety is just as much an expression of the whole as a moment of profound silence. The separate self is a construction of thoughts. We give the name "mind" to the total flow of thoughts, but the mind has no independent existence.