The Unattainable Present and the Market of Mindfulness Products

Silence is not a practice that we do. It is what remains when the seeker finally stops seeking. But who is seeking? And what exactly are we looking for in the crowded marketplace of modern spirituality? We find ourselves surrounded by an endless array of mindfulness products, from guided meditation apps with soothing voices to specialized cushions and high-tech biofeedback devices. These tools may indeed bring a sense of comfort to the body-mind. They might even help us feel a bit more relaxed or harmonized with the pressures of daily life. There is nothing wrong with feeling better. However, a fundamental misunderstanding often arises: the belief that these tools are a ladder leading to a state called enlightenment. We imagine that if we use the right product or follow the right technique long enough, we will eventually reach a destination where the separate self finally dissolves into the absolute. But how can a wave practice being the ocean? The wave is already the ocean, whether it is crashing violently against the rocks or shimmering in a moment of calm. The problem with the way we approach mindfulness products is that they often reinforce the very illusion they claim to dismantle. The practice of mindfulness is frequently presented as a skill to be acquired, a proficiency that we develop over time through effort and dedication. This implies a subject—a separate self—who is performing an action to achieve a result in the future. It suggests that there is a "me" here and a "goal" over there. But where is "there"? If we look closely at this moment, we find that there is nowhere else to be. Every effort we make to reach the present moment is itself happening in the present moment. We are like the protagonist of a film trying to reach the screen upon which he is projected. No matter how fast he runs, how many mountains he climbs, or how many rivers he crosses within the narrative of the film, he never gets any closer to the screen because he is already entirely composed of it. He cannot reach what he already is. The screen doesn't need to be attained; it is the very condition that allows the movie to exist. When we engage with various mindfulness products, we are often looking for a way to manage our internal state. We want to pacify the mind, to turn the chaotic storm of thoughts into a "luminous steel wire in an empty space," as some deep meditative states are described. It is true that through intense practice, the mind can become incredibly sharp and clear. We might experience dimensions of internal light and profound quiet that feel miraculous. These experiences are undeniably satisfying and can even make us feel like geniuses in our problem-solving. But even these beautiful states are not the absolute. They are still experiences happening to a perceived observer. If we use these states as an escape—a place to hide when life gets difficult—we are simply creating a "stagnant pool" on the side of the river, as the philosopher Krishnamurti once suggested. We try to stop the flow of life to feel safe, but life is the flow itself. The fish swim in the river, not in the stagnant puddle. ## The Illusion of the Spiritual Journey and the Trap of Progress We are conditioned to believe in progress. Our culture tells us that if we work hard, we will improve, and eventually, we will succeed. We carry this same logic into our spiritual lives, treating awakening as a trophy to be won at the end of a long marathon. We talk about the "journey" or the "process of becoming aware," but these words are traps. They imply a distance between us and the totality. But how can there be a distance from the absolute? If the absolute is truly total, nothing can be outside of it. Therefore, there is no path to travel. We are already what we are seeking. The separate self is the one who wants a path because a path gives the "me" something to do. It gives the seeker a sense of purpose and a timeline. But the radical truth is that there is no "you" that can do anything to get "there." The seeker is the sought. When this is seen, the need for a ladder disappears. Consider the emotions that dominate our daily experience, such as fear. When we see a threat, like a tiger, our attention is entirely on the tiger. We don't "see" our fear; we are the fear, acted out through the body-mind's survival mechanisms. This is natural and necessary for survival. However, in our psychological lives, we are often haunted by fears that have no immediate physical source. We become dominated by reactions and patterns that we don't even notice. Mindfulness, as a functional tool, can help us observe these sensations and reactions more globally. It can help us see the fear rather than just being driven by it. This brings a certain harmony and balance to our lives. It makes the "film" of our life more pleasant to watch. But we must be careful not to confuse a more harmonious film with the screen itself. Improving the character in the movie is not the same as realizing you are the screen. The marketplace of mindfulness products often promises a gradual awakening. They suggest that if you buy this subscription or attend that retreat, you are making "spiritual progress." But who is progressing? If the separate self is an illusion, then its progress is also an illusion. A character in a dream cannot make progress toward waking up. Waking up is the end of the character, not the character’s greatest achievement. The idea of being "enlightened" is, in itself, a contradiction. If someone says, "I am enlightened," they are asserting the existence of an "I" that has attained a state that others haven't. This is just more duality, more separation. True liberation is not something that belongs to an individual. It is the realization that there is no separate individual to whom liberation could happen. It is what is already happening while we are busy looking for something else. ## The Mind’s Frustration and the Opening to Mystery The mind thrives on knowing. It wants to categorize, understand, and control. It uses language to create a sense of security, pretending that because we have a name for something, we know what it is. We talk about neurons, synapses, and brain waves to describe our experience, but these are just descriptions. The actual process of a thought arising is completely ignoto—unknown. We have no idea how a thought begins or where it goes. We are constantly venturing into the unknown, yet we are so afraid of it that we cling to our concepts and our mindfulness products as if they were life rafts. We want to believe we are standing on solid ground, but there is no solid ground. We are flowing with the river, and we are the river itself. When the mind reaches its limit, it often experiences a profound sense of frustration. It says, "I don't know," and it feels like a failure. But in the context of the absolute, this "not knowing" is the ultimate opening. When the mind finally admits it cannot grasp the totality, something else can manifest. This is not a state that you reach through effort; it is what appears when the effort to know finally collapses. It is like the story of the seeker who begged Bodhidharma for peace of mind. Bodhidharma told him, "Show me your mind, and I will give it peace." The seeker looked and looked, but he couldn't find his mind anywhere. In that moment of not finding, the search ended. The peace wasn't something given to the mind; it was what remained when the "mind" could not be located. Our obsession with achieving a result keeps us locked in a cycle of doing. We practice to get calm; we meditate to get clear; we use mindfulness products to get happy. But the very act of "practicing to get" something implies that what we want is missing. It reinforces the sense of lack. What if the completeness we are looking for has been here since the beginning? What if we have simply been too busy looking for it to notice it? If someone tells you to "live in the here and now," it sounds like a command, a task to be performed. But where else could you possibly live? Try, with all your might, to not be here and now for just two seconds. You will find it is impossible. Even your thoughts about the past or the future are happening right here, right now. You are already doing it perfectly, without any effort at all. ## The Screen and the Movie of Daily Life Life continues to flow, with all its joys, traumas, and mundane details. We eat an artichoke, we look into the eyes of a cat, we feel the texture of a grape. These are simple perceptions. The separate self tries to turn these perceptions into "experiences" that it can own or use for its own growth. It asks, "How does this grape help me become more present?" But the presence is already there, allowing the grape to be felt. The presence doesn't need the grape, and the grape doesn't create the presence. They are not two things. The artichoke is not just an artichoke; it is the totality appearing as an artichoke. But words can only indicate this in a very blurred way. The mind cannot understand how a vegetable can be "everything," because the mind's job is to see how an artichoke is different from an apple. We often feel alone on this "spiritual path," surrounded by the noise of guided voices and the spiritual separate self of groups. We crave a space where we can just be, before the words start. This is why silence is so precious. Not because silence is a better state than noise, but because in silence, the seeker’s constant commentary might momentarily lose its grip. When we sit together in silence, there is a kind of non-verbal co-regulation, a strength in the group that doesn't require interaction or "spiritual talk." It is a shared recognition of the mystery that we all are. It isn't about achieving a goal together; it is about simply being the screen together, while the movie of our individual lives continues to play. There is a great sense of freedom in realizing that no effort is required to be what you already are. The "natural state" isn't a destination at the end of a long practice; it is the state that is always here, under the layers of seeking and doing. Mindfulness products can be seen as toys within the movie—sometimes helpful, sometimes distracting, but ultimately unnecessary for the recognition that the screen. They can make the character's life more comfortable, and that is perfectly fine. But they cannot bring you to the absolute, because you have never left it. The search for liberation is the only thing that seems to hide the liberation that is already happening. ## The Wonder of the Unknown The response to the profound mystery of existence is not more knowledge, but wonder. When we stop trying to fix ourselves or reach a higher state, we are left with the simple marvel of "this." This moment, exactly as it is, without the need for improvement or explanation. It is the same feeling we have when we encounter true beauty. We don't try to "use" the beauty; we are simply struck by it. The absolute is not a secret to be uncovered; it is the most obvious thing in the world, so obvious that we overlook it in favor of our complicated practices and goals. We spend our lives trying to build a secure "me," using everything from career success to mindfulness products to reinforce the walls of our separate self. But these walls are made of thoughts, and thoughts are as fleeting as clouds. There is no fixed point in the flow of becoming. We are the flow. We don't need to fight the current or try to find a shore to stand on. The water is not separate from the river. When the idea of a separate "me" who is practicing to reach a goal is seen as just another thought, the tension of seeking begins to dissolve. Not because we have achieved something, but because we have realized there was nothing to achieve. In the end, there are no steps to follow. There is no recipe for being what you are.