I went hiking in the mountains north of here a few days ago, and it was a very long walk. For miles I walked through the trees and brush, mostly in places where there are no paths and the wanderer is forced to make his own. Some of the underbrush was quite thick, and I plowed my way through as best I could. I began the journey with a goal of going someplace, but that had long since been lost under the weight of the sultry southern summer, which settled on my shoulders like a damp woolen blanket.

Hours into the journey I was very fatigued, quite lost, and I could feel the first pangs of desperation setting in. Why had I attempted this journey at all? What good is it to be on a journey if you cannot remember the destination, let alone find a path that leads to it? I was thinking these thoughts while fighting my way through a particularly thick section of underbrush, when I suddenly stumbled into a small clearing. Beams of sunlight dappled a pine straw floor, and it felt like someone had turned the switch on a giant fan above the trees. The cool breeze quickly began to dry the flood of sweat cascading off my face and forehead. Weird to suddenly find this kind of breeze on a day as dead as this one had been, I thought.

I stopped in the middle of the clearing to breathe the cool air and to let it wash over me. The clearing was only about 20 feet across: an oasis in a forest that was otherwise almost black with denseness. As I continued to fill my lungs with the sweet air flowing from some unseen place above, in the corner of my eye I glimpsed a movement.

Normally this would have startled me, but at that moment I simply turned my attention deliberately in the direction of the movement, and saw, less than ten feet away, a very old, white-haired man, sitting on an ancient tree carcass. It was clear that he had been watching me the entire time, yet I had not seen him at all until now.

“You look like you need to rest for a while,” he said, motioning to the other side of the stump he was sitting on. Again, my nature is to be distrusting of people, so I thought it was strange that I felt myself involuntarily begin to move in his direction. I walked over and sat down.

“Nice day for a walk, even if you don’t exactly know where you’re going,” he remarked. I was too tired and glad to be off my feet to notice the last part of his comment.

But I felt in that clearing an aura of wisdom and kindness, and the only thing I knew for sure was that it did not emanate from me. Thinking back on it now, I guess I had noticed that aura immediately. It explains why I never felt the least bit worried or anxious. Ghosts do follow me around those hills, but clearly (I thought), this man is not a ghost.

I don’t normally warm quickly to conversations with total strangers, either. But he had spoken to me, and now we sat together in silence. I was still winded, but I could feel my strength returning. I was trying to figure out what to say to him, when suddenly the thought occurred to me that it might be good to continue with him the philosophical conversation that I had been having with myself for at least the last couple of hours of my walk. After all, is it not cathartic, and possibly therapeutic, to occasionally engage a perfect stranger in a very deep conversation? And isn’t it only after we get to know people that we begin to perceive the need to deceive them? I decided to take advantage of the moment.

And so I asked him the question that had been rolling around in my mind during my struggle with the forest: “How are we humans to deal with rejection?” I asked. I paused for a moment before realizing that he was waiting for me to finish the thought.

So I continued: “After all, is not the very thought of being rejected one of the most painful things imaginable? Is it not true that, to be rejected is to be forced to deal, somehow, with the possibility that we fell short or were not good enough to be loved by the one who rejected us?”

And once he was certain that I was finished talking and was ready to listen, he spoke as follows:

“You want to know how to respond to rejection. Well, I am old, and I have spent quite a lot of my life contemplating these types of questions. I can answer you, or at least give you my opinion, but I am going to have to impose a condition before I do.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“Agree that everything I say could be completely wrong.”

“Well I’m skeptical anyway, so I’ll probably think everything you say IS completely wrong. So that is an easy agreement for me to make. Now, tell me what you think.”

And he spoke thus: “How about this as a possibility: love those who reject you.”

Wow, how guru-like in its simplicity, I thought. And I was immediately skeptical.

He continued: “But please don’t think I’m saying you should love anyone, much less those who reject you. I’m just saying that it is theoretically possible. Maybe you will not choose to attempt that just yet. After all, we are works in progress or we wouldn’t be struggling here. But maybe you will recognize that, as humans, it should be our goal to love like that.”

“So you’re saying it is a goal, but not necessarily a goal that we should feel disappointed if we don’t achieve?” I asked him.

He continued without really answering the question.

“Empathy is part of the key to understanding how to do it. Take the example of Jesus Christ. Not only was he rejected, but he was betrayed by his closest allies and then murdered. Yet he loved them all: through the rejection, through the betrayal, and even during his crucifixion he loved them. How was that possible? The only way is that he must have had the ability to put himself right there, into the persona of those who rejected and murdered him—and each of us since who have symbolically done the same thing. He understood, if you will, that it was nothing personal—that it was our own pain and fear that led us to reject, betray, and then murder him.”

Wow, this got deep in a hurry, I thought. But it wasn’t so bad, either. He continued, to the best of my recollection, something along the following lines:

“But please don’t think that, by merely theorizing, I would purport to advise any one person as to what their individual decision in these matters should be. Part of it is that I don’t think the dynamics of the human interaction are as important as acceptance of the fact of rejection itself, and the experience of the legitimate pain involved in the realization and acceptance. But even if you choose to not love (and, again, you are perfectly free to make that choice), I am presumptuous enough to suggest forgiveness as a good first step.”

“How’d you figure this stuff out, anyway?” I asked him. “Are you a religious man?”

“I’m hardly religious. In fact, the pious would probably deem me a non-believer or a pagan. I do, however, believe in the metaphors of religion. They can be great teachers.”

“I have had many children,” he continued, “so I had to learn to teach. And I tried to teach my children that the most important thing to accomplish during a lifetime is to identify the broken parts of the personality, and work to fix them. Otherwise, there is no point to existence. Some wise men, much wiser than I, have reminded us that “life is difficult.” But then they didn’t go much further in an effort to explain why life is difficult, or that it inevitably should be.”

My mind became stuck for a moment on his rather matter-of-fact declaration that “life is difficult.” Yes, I thought, there is no doubt about the truth of that statement. But in my experience, most people seem surprised that it is. Indeed, (I thought), if people lived expecting life to be difficult, they would not be so overwhelmed by its difficulties. Instead of being surprised, they would be expectant. Instead of being overwhelmed, they would be prepared. And during the times of relative ease and peace, they would be thankful for the respite—yet vigilant for the inevitable arrival of the wrecking ball.

And as I finished that thought, I noticed the old man staring at me. “I’m sorry,” I said to him. “I got stuck on something you said.”

“Yes, life is difficult,” he responded. “Isn’t it funny how the most profound truths are also some of the simplest ones?”

“Yes,” I replied. “So, we know that life is difficult, but why…why does it have to be?”

His reply, as I remember it, went something like this:

“Life is difficult because we are imperfect. And ‘imperfect’ is really too nice a word, so I like to use the term ‘broken.’ We are here, enduring lives filled with various degrees of difficulty, or ‘pain’ if you will, because we are broken. And existence here, in human form, is the best way for us to dissect ourselves, discover our flaws and imperfections, fix them, and thus move back in the direction of perfection from whence we came.”

“’From whence we came’?” I asked. “You talk like we were perfect at some time before.”

“Perfection is the Unity that we once were,” he answered. “Somehow, we all became splintered from Unity and from each other. Our own splintered personalities are both metaphors for, and the result of, the initial separation. That separation is symbolized in Christian teaching by the fall of man from god by eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge. We were split apart from Unity and from each other, and here we are, with a mandate to fix our flaws. Fixing those flaws is the only path back to Unity and perfection. But fixing those flaws also involves pain. Thus, ‘life is difficult.’”

“What is the alternative to Unity?” I asked.

He responded: “The simple answer is: Hell.”

He must have seen me recoil slightly. Fire-and-brimstone sermons delivered by impassioned Southern Baptist preachers still echoed through the Sunday mornings of my mind—even now, many years later. Those sermons scared me into salvation at an age when I was too young to have any inkling of what it meant. So, eager to avoid eternal damnation and the endless physical torture it would entail, down the aisle of my small church I walked to embrace Jesus as my Lord and Savior, even though I hadn’t the foggiest notion, at the time, of what the whole thing meant.

The old man interrupted my thought again: “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. The ‘hell’ I’m talking about is not some endless burning lake of fire, deployed by the devout to scare folks into believing.”

To which I responded: “If you believe something because you’re scared to believe anything else, that’s not much of a belief anyway, is it?” I’d been thinking that for a long time—years. “Maybe you should find a different word than ‘hell’ though, especially down here in the South,” I suggested.

“You’re probably right. But my version of hell may be worse than yours.”

That made me nervous. What torture could be worse than a burning for eternity in a lake of fire?

“Hell,” he said, “in my way of thinking, involves a permanent separation from Unity. And people get there by making a series of conscious decisions, over many years, to avoid recognizing and fixing the broken parts of their personalities. People know that they are broken, at least at first. But they go to great lengths to deny it to themselves and others. That denial, and the deception that quickly becomes necessary to maintain it, are the first steps along the road that leads, eventually, to hell. The layers of deceit build up over time, until eventually the person achieves a state of perfect denial—a state where they no longer have the ability to recognize that they are broken, let alone attempt to heal. That person has arrived in hell.”

The air hung heavy in the clearing. The great invisible fan was dead. Neither of us spoke again for a long time. The darkness of a great shadow began to invade the clearing as the sun receded. The bleached tree carcass on which we sat picked up the last reflections of the day’s light, and for a moment we sat suspended together over a vast, unseen river. Then, at once: nothing but darkness and a cacophony of crickets and cicadas.

Finally he spoke again: “We are all broken in one or more ways.”

“How do you know this?” I asked him.

“Because we are here.”

“But don’t you think some people have problems that are too great for them to ever be able to solve?” I asked him.

And he said:

“Most of us have only one serious soul-depth issue, per lifetime, that we are here to deal with and fix. A few have more, but many will never have the courage to face and deal with the first one, let alone others. I don’t think Unity (the Unity that lives inside us and is us, collectively) is so crass and insensitive as to send us here and give us more than we should be able to deal with.”

“You give this Unity thing a lot of credit, don’t you?” I asked him. “If Unity is the same thing as God, I know a lot of people who believe that God is an apathetic, lassaiz-faire, absentee landlord.”

“These people have a lot to learn about love,” he responded.

“What about love?” I asked him.

“Love involves courage. Great love involves great courage.”

“What are we to do about ourselves, then?” I wanted to know.

He spoke: “First, strive to get to a place in your life where you can achieve complete honesty with everyone you know and interact with. To do that is to act with great courage. The deceit that you have been willing to engage in—which you found at first extremely difficult because it seemed antithetical to your core values—will become easier the longer you allow yourself to continue with it by rationalizing it. After all, rationalization is, itself, nothing more than an insidious form of self-deceit.

“You are separating yourself from Unity by being deceitful in any way, ever.
“And if you continue to do it, you will get to the point where you are unable to practice anything but deceit, and you will lose your way. You will, in fact, lose the ability to discern the difference between the truth and a lie. I have known people like that. They created their own hell and then barricaded themselves within it—a complete, and possibly irrevocable, separation from Unity.”

“Why do you think so many people are confused about love?” I asked him.

“One reason is that most people do not understand that love, as we experience it here, is not quid pro quo. In fact, love is quite frequently quid pro nihilum: sometimes one person in a truly loving relationship will be the receiver of great love and the giver of none. It is both a mathematical certainty and a cosmic reality that quid pro quo is impossible.

“But even if they are not that one-sided, loving relationships usually do involve an ebb and flow over time. At times, one will be the primary giver; at other times the other will assume that role.”

He continued: “But realize this in regard to any relationship: you will never find any person, other than yourself, who will be able to fill the emptiness inside you. No one but you can fix you. And if you keep looking for and depending on others to do it—to ‘complete you’ or whatever those people talk about who have been watching and mistaking for reality too many poisonous Hollywood fairy tales—you choose the path of no learning, great pain, and possible irreversible separation from Unity.”

“So you are saying that relationships are good, but not necessary?”

Again, he answered without answering: “You arrived naked and crying on this lost, lonely, burnt, spinning sphere with everything you need to fix you. You have every tool you need to get to that place inside yourself where you are able to both love and be loved as unconditionally as is possible within the chrysalis of existence in the flesh.

“But also know that there are those with whom you will interact, who made a cosmic decision eons ago to help you in your path to perfection. Their decision was simply to love you. And they knew that their decision to love you would bring them earthly pain. Be on the lookout for these souls as they come to you. See them for who they are. Understand and appreciate what they were willing to do because they decided to love you.

“Conversely, also understand that, when you experience pain, you are simply living the path you decided for yourself, long ago. One of the covenants in a great cosmic agreement you made with another soul, whom you decided to love, was the acceptance and experience of pain. So experience that pain, not as if it were a great crushing weight or an impossible dilemma, but as simply another emotion to be experienced for its own intrinsic value, in much the same way you experience the emotions of joy, happiness, and all the others.”

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Introduction: I wrote this essay for others, like me, who think deeply and are reluctant to blindly accept everything they were taught in Sunday School.

Unexamined beliefs don’t evidence faith. They evidence fear and spiritual laziness.

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Early Christianity did not emerge as a single unified system of belief. Instead, it developed within the diverse intellectual and spiritual landscape of the ancient Mediterranean world, where Jewish theology, Greek philosophy, and various mystical traditions intersected. Within this environment, different early Christian thinkers entertained a range of ideas about the nature and destiny of the soul, including concepts that resemble reincarnation or the pre-existence of souls.

Christianity arose out of Second Temple Judaism, which itself contained multiple views about life after death. Some Jewish groups emphasized the resurrection of the dead at the end of time, while others speculated about the pre-existence of souls or the return of prophetic figures. This background helps explain passages in the New Testament that seem to assume the possibility that a prophet might reappear in a new form. For example, when Jesus asked his disciples who people believed he was, they replied that some thought he might be John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or another prophet returned (Matthew 16:14). Similarly, Jesus described John the Baptist as “Elijah who was to come” (Matthew 11:14), reflecting an expectation within Jewish tradition that Elijah would return.

In the early centuries of Christianity, some theologians developed ideas that came close to a doctrine of reincarnation, though not always in a fully explicit form. The most notable example is the influential theologian Origen of Alexandria (c. 185–253 CE). Origen proposed that souls existed before their earthly lives and that embodiment in the material world occurred as part of a process of spiritual education and purification. In his work De Principiis, he suggested that souls received their circumstances in accordance with their previous spiritual condition. Although Origen did not clearly teach reincarnation in the strict sense of repeated earthly lives, his ideas about pre-existent souls and moral progression across cosmic stages have often been interpreted as compatible with a rebirth-like process.

Even more explicit parallels appear in certain Gnostic Christian traditions. Gnostic groups generally believed that human souls originated in a divine realm but became trapped in the material world through ignorance. Salvation consisted of awakening to divine knowledge, or gnosis, which would allow the soul to escape the cycle of ignorance and return to its original source. Some Gnostic texts discovered in the Nag Hammadi library, such as The Pistis Sophia, describe souls undergoing repeated experiences tied to their moral and spiritual condition. These descriptions resemble the idea that souls may undergo multiple lives or stages of existence before achieving liberation.

Over time, however, the developing institutional Church moved toward a more uniform doctrine of the soul’s destiny. Orthodox Christian teaching came to emphasize a single earthly life followed by judgment and either eternal salvation or condemnation. Passages such as Hebrews 9:27—“It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment”—were interpreted as excluding the possibility of repeated lives.

This doctrinal consolidation culminated in the condemnation of certain teachings associated with Origen at the Second Council of Constantinople in 553 CE. While historians debate whether reincarnation itself was directly condemned, the council rejected the idea of the pre-existence of souls, effectively closing the door on theological frameworks that might support reincarnation within orthodox Christianity.

The rejection of reincarnation served several theological purposes. The Christian narrative of salvation emphasizes the urgency of repentance within a single lifetime and the decisive significance of Christ’s redemptive work. A cyclical view of multiple lives could weaken that sense of urgency and complicate the framework of final judgment. As the Church grew into a powerful institution, it increasingly favored doctrines that presented salvation history as a single linear story rather than a recurring cycle.

Despite this rejection, ideas resembling reincarnation continued to appear on the margins of Christian thought. Medieval groups such as the Cathars and various mystical traditions occasionally entertained notions of the soul’s repeated purification or return. In modern times, some scholars and spiritual thinkers have revisited early Christian sources and suggested that the earliest Christian communities may have held more diverse views about the soul than later orthodoxy allowed.

In historical perspective, the evidence suggests that reincarnation was never a dominant doctrine within early Christianity. Nevertheless, the early centuries of the Christian movement contained a range of speculative ideas about the soul’s origin and destiny, including concepts that closely resemble rebirth. As Christian doctrine became more formally defined, these ideas were gradually excluded, leaving behind a theological system centered on a single earthly life followed by resurrection and judgment.

Everything—everything—you perceive is nothing other than the brilliant reflection of your own radiance.

I used to get little glimpses of it—always for me in nature. A deeper and longer experience of this is called Samadhi. I am going to describe below an experience of Samadhi which was experienced in Oregon a couple of months ago. I bought a piece of property there and the next day my shaman and his partner and I were at the property to do a ceremony with rape’ (pronounced RAH-PAY) and bless the land. We sat down by the river and did that, and after the ceremony I felt incredibly nauseous. We walked back up to the bridge and sat down. Actually I lay down on the bridge. They sat above me and we talked. Actually they talked and I mostly listened. They hope to conceive a child soon. I was listening and blessing that wish but I was sick. I was thankful when they made up some excuse and said they needed to leave. I continued to lie there in the fetal position and watched their forms recede down the dirt pathway back toward where they’d left their car.

After a few minutes I stood up and took of all of my clothes and lay back down naked in the dirt on the bridge. Some of the nausea had abated. I decided to get into the water to see if that would purge the rest of it. I climbed down large, slippery rocks below the bridge and entered the river. It was so icy cold that it was shocking, having only a few hours earlier been snow. “What if there are snakes in the river…nah too cold…what if there are leeches!” The nonsense mind comes up with!

I lay naked in the cold water and imagined a leech attaching itself to my penis. Those thoughts and others came and went for a little while in the theater of mind, appearing and disappearing again like a messenger who arrives and, not finding any master to whom to deliver his message, departs bewildered. I meditated like that in the icy water until there arose a sensation of warmth. Then after a while some sort of numbness began to creep in—body going cold and numb. Somewhere deep in the recesses of consciousness a thought about getting out of the river began to gel and form and eventually conditioned the arising of volition.

So I got out. I climbed back up the rocks and and sat down on the side of the bridge to let the sun dry my body. After my body dried I wrapped a small piece of cloth around my torso and made the video below. The nausea had been replaced with a feeling of intense happiness, joy, freedom.

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Some sort of perceiving all of creation as surreal had also arisen and remained. After a while I stood up and walked over to the Jeep and dressed. It was about a half hour before sunset.

The BLM (Bureau of Land Management, a bureaucracy of the federal government) maintains the paved public road that serves my property. It continues on up and over a large mountain. If it’s open you can take it all the way over into Grants Pass. An angel had told me to drive up the mountain “if you get a chance,” he had said. “But be careful you don’t go too far.” I put that in quotes because that is exactly what he said and he emphasized it.

I am going to give some very important advice now. If an angel ever says to you that you might want to do something, you ought to give serious consideration to doing it. With that in mind I began to drive along the washed out road leading into and out of my property, back to the paved BLM road. I turned right and headed up the mountain.

My property continues up the side of this road for a little ways, so I slowed down to see if I could make out where the boundary was. Suddenly a pair of headlights appeared behind me. “Who the fuck would be driving up this mountain at this time of night, and on a Thursday?” I wondered. My property is the last of the privately-owned tracts—it’s all BLM lands from there all the way up and then back down again (if it’s passable) to Grants Pass. Nobody lives up there.

Those lights kept on appearing behind me for quite a few miles up. It’s like he was timing it just so that about the time I was to go around the next curve, he emerged from the last curve and I would get a glimpse of the headlights before they disappeared again behind me. And so on for quite a while.

A few minutes later I had to start slowing down due to multiple rocks that had fallen onto the road. From that point on up, the road became an obstacle course. It was getting near sundown. The shadows were long and the way down the mountain just a few inches off the right side of the road was steep.

Fallen rocks and chunks of rocks were strewn everywhere now—in some places just barely leaving room for passage. It was a bizarre surreal moon-like scene—some of those rocks were the size of small boulders. I started thinking, “Damn, one of those could roll off that mountain and hit this Jeep and kill me instantly and I’d be dead. Bam. That’s it. Everything gone in an instant.” This was what mind was busying itself with as I drove on up toward the top of the mountain.

Somehow the headlights guy behind me turned around or stopped or something because at a certain point the lights were just gone and I never saw them again. I half-expected to see him waiting for me on the way down, but I would see not one soul all the way back to Selma. I briefly wondered why someone would drive to some place short of where I was and then just turn around and leave. But that seems to be what happened.

Anyway, eventually I came to a place where a thick stand of conifers kept the road shielded from the sun’s light and warmth. In the shadows of the trees a thin layer of melting ice topped several inches of snow, blanketing the entire road for as far ahead as I could see.

I wondered for a moment how long it would be before this very ice would flow as water through my property. A few days? A week?

That was what was going on in my mind as I stood there at the edge of the snow with massive Coast Redwoods, their tops obscured in a thin wispy fog, towering above. Some of these gigantic trees just barely clung to the sides of the steep embankments that rose a hundred feet above the road. Some of the trees’ roots were exposed, extending like huge toes trying to claw into the ground in a desperate attempt to maintain a foothold. “A foothold which will not be maintained,” I thought, “That tree will fall over this road and then BLM will need to come up here and cut it up to clear the road. It is bound to happen, but probably not until after I leave.”

This small glacier was quite obviously the place the angel was talking about. I was sort of expecting the point of no return to be a little more subtle, but whatever. There would be no way to even walk across that sheet of ice without immediately falling on my ass and slipping into the steep dark hole below the conifer stand. Nevermind trying to drive a vehicle through there.

I shut off the Jeep, got out and walked over to where I could see down the mountain a ways. The sun was about to set. I sat down to meditate on one of the flatter rocks. Utterly alone, forgotten, small. Powerless.

I hesitate to describe how awesome it is—this Samadhi, this longer glimpse into what you and I really are. Apart from the fact that it is utterly impossible to describe or even know—ineffable—there is a significant risk of beings mistaking experience for enlightenment and starting to crave it.

Enlightenment is not an experience. I repeat, enlightenment is not an experience. Enlightenment is an uncorrupted view. And that’s it.

If you start craving it, looking for it, being worried that someone else has it and you don’t, etc., you should recognize this as standard human bullshit. The only desire which has any spiritual value at all is the desire to be liberated from suffering. Contrary to what a lot of misguided “gurus” say, having a strong desire for liberation is absolutely necessary. Without it enlightenment is not possible.

This samadhi is like some sort of portal opens up. I hesitate to describe the point of becoming one with the non-dual satchitananda as an experience at all. Don’t try to see it. Don’t try to understand it. Don’t vainly seek it. If you do any of this, you will fail. By attempting to see it you see it not. By attempting to know it you know it not. By attempting to find it you find it not.

You’ve experienced it before. I’m sure you have. When have you been in complete awe of something such that you were struck dumb by the power and beauty of it? Maybe you could conceive it as a peaceful, blissful kind of joy. Some people get a glimpse when they see a particularly beautiful sunset. Or a mountain. Or something else in nature that reminds them of their complete insignificance in the face of it.

There is the tiniest minute bit of it at the point of an orgasm. Some may experience it at the birth of their first child. This samadhi I’m talking about is just a large dose of precisely that…stuff, light, love, God, Brahman, Allah, et al. It’s just a very large dose of that, and it is such a large dose that it is possible to recognize what it is and come back from it knowing “I am that,” and then not become seduced again into believing that existence is limited to and confined in this rotting piece of quivering flesh I call “my body,” which in a few more hours or days will become food for buzzards or worms anyway.

This samadhi is necessary for a spiritual awakening. It can be attained using meditative techniques and it can be attained in other ways, including by consuming psychoactive plant medicines. These samadhis, however induced, are not to be understood as the “underlying reality” or any such silly thing as that. They should be understood as agents which for a brief period of time artificially cure enough of the defects of your own mind that you see clearly—the doors of perception are briefly made less opaque.

Some people start craving these experiences, and in so doing they get way off track spiritually. Luckily the medicines themselves help cure the problem by a process which reduces their efficacy for producing the desired effects if they continue to be misused as agents of pleasure. These medicines are a gift and a blessing for mankind. But like all of God’s gifts, many people inevitably fuck them up and corrupt them—usually in the name of money. This is to be expected.

So the bottom line, an experience of samadhi lets you know what is possible. It gives you a glimpse of what you are, and what you are is awesome. But in order to stop suffering, it is necessary to know the truth (I am not body-mind) and also to embody that truth. I can probably convince you intellectually of the former in less than an hour. Then you might spend the rest of your life, or several more lifetimes, deeply engaged in spiritual practices to perfect the latter.

If you get enough of a glimpse of true nature for long enough, it will choicelessly reorient your life in Its direction.

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The sun had set and darkness settled down on the mountain. I drove slowly and carefully back down, past my property again and on down into Selma. I stopped at the local supermarket there and bought water and something to eat and a t-shirt. Then I continued on back to Grants Pass and my Air BnB room. I was tired but I did not sleep for quite a while. The next day I drove to Medford, got on a plane and flew up to Seattle.

In downtown Seattle, drug-addled groups of zombie-like humans occupied various street corners, many openly smoking meth. I walked in and among them. I hugged one man’s neck who seemed inclined to hug, and gave all of them who asked whatever money I had. There were two or three men in different places just standing on corners screaming incoherent nonsense at the top of their lungs to everyone and no one, their minds completely obscured and mired in ignorance, consumed by an inchoate rage. If you do not believe that there are beings suffering in hell realms, go to Seattle and walk around downtown. I’m sure there are other places too.

The next day I rode a train back to SeaTac, boarded a Delta 757 and flew back to Atlanta. I’ve got it in my mind to head back out as soon as I can for the purpose of abiding in noble silence for a good long while.

Update August 2013: Here is a news piece I ran across a couple months after I was in Seattle: https://youtu.be/GvRX9fNMW00.

Here is a link to the YouTube video in which I discuss this:

First I will provide an overview of of the current state of the science on quantum mechanics, as I understand it. By way of background, this author holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Applied Mathematics, a Master of Arts in Strategic Studies, and a Juris Doctorate.

I will then offer conclusions based on the current state of the science and “my” own experiences in meditative and other states of altered consciousness.

I. Overview of the current science

A quantum system refers to any physical system that exhibits behavior governed by the principles of quantum mechanics. Quantum mechanics is a branch of physics that deals with matter at very small scales, such as atoms, subatomic particles, and photons. Unlike classical systems, quantum systems display unique properties that are not intuitive and often defy classical expectations, such as:

1. Superposition: Particles in a quantum system can exist in multiple states simultaneously. For example, an electron in an atom does not have a single defined position but exists in a probability distribution until measured or observed.

2. Entanglement: Particles in a quantum system can become “entangled,” meaning their states are interdependent, even if separated by large distances. Changing the state of one particle affects the other particle instantaneously, regardless of distance, a phenomenon Einstein famously called “spooky action at a distance.”

3. Quantization: Certain properties, like energy, come in discrete “quanta,” or packets, rather than being continuous. This means that a particle’s energy levels are restricted to specific values.

4. Wave-Particle Duality: Particles in a quantum system, like electrons or photons, can behave both as particles and as waves.

Quantum systems are described by wave functions—probability functions that encode the probabilities of a particle’s properties, such as position and momentum. When measured, these wave functions “collapse” to specific values, making quantum systems dependent on observation and measurement.

5. Observation and measurement. What happens when a quantum system is observed or measured, and why is this considered a “problem” in theoretical physics?

The “measurement problem” concerns what happens when a quantum system is observed or measured. In quantum mechanics, particles like electrons and photons are described by a wave function: a probability distribution of all of the possible states the particle could be in. Once an initial observation takes place, the wave function collapses and evolves deterministically according to a mathematical equation known as Schrodinger’s equation.

Before an observation takes place, the particle is in a superposition of all possible states. See, e.g., the Schrodinger’s Cat thought experiment. But when the system is observed or measured, the wave function collapses to a single outcome. This collapse is not explained by the standard equations of quantum mechanics, leading to questions about what exactly constitutes a “measurement” or observation and why it causes the apparent collapse of what had been a set of probabilities into a single outcome. The conundrum is whether wave function collapse is a real, physical process or simply a result of the observer’s interaction with the system.

There are different interpretations of Quantum Mechanics. According to some interpretations—particularly the Copenhagen interpretation—a particle does not come into conventional physical existence until the quantum system is observed or measured. This interpretation, first advanced by Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg, Max Born and others, suggests that, before measurement, a quantum system “exists” in a superposition of all possible states, without definite properties like position or momentum. When a measurement or observation is made, the wave function collapses into a single outcome and, then and only then, the particle takes on physical properties. So in this view, particles lack physical attributes until the system is observed. This idea challenges the classical understanding of reality, where objects are simply “there,” having definite properties whether or not they are observed or measured.

The Copenhagen Interpretation is one of the oldest and most widely taught interpretations of quantum mechanics.

Alternatives to the Copenhagen interpretation include the so-called “many-worlds” or Everett interpretation. This interpretation denies wave function collapse and suggests instead that all possible outcomes of quantum observations are realized in a vast multiverse of branching realities. Each observation splits the universe of observer and observed into as many outcomes as possible, with each outcome happening in its own “world” or universe.

Yet another interpretation is De-Broglie-Bohm, a deterministic theory where particles have definite positions and velocities at all times, guided by a wave function. The act of measurement or observation reveals these properties but doesn’t actually cause a collapse of the wave function.

Finally, Quantum Bayesianism (QBism) views the wave function as a reflection of an observer’s personal knowledge or beliefs about the system, which is updated upon observation. In QBism, the wave function does not represent an objective reality but rather the observer’s personal belief or information about a quantum system. It’s a tool for making probabilistic predictions about future measurements.

Probabilities in QBism are subjective, reflecting the observer’s degree of belief about an event based on the observer’s information. When an observer observes a quantum system, they update their beliefs and probabilities based on the outcome.

In QBism, the measurement outcomes are personal experiences for the observer. The result of an observation does not reveal an objective fact about the quantum system, but rather updates the observer’s knowledge.

In short, in QBism the focus is on the observer’s internal knowledge. It emphasizes how quantum mechanics improves the quality of predictions based on the information the observer has, rather than by describing an objective world that is independent of the observer.

We may now consider whether the Universe as a whole may be considered a quantum system, and we find that indeed it can be. This idea comes from the field of quantum cosmology, which applies quantum mechanics to the entire universe. In this framework, the universe is described by a wave function that encompasses all possible states and histories.

However, this idea of the universe as a quantum system raises a number of profound questions and challenges:

1. Quantum superposition: Just like particles, prior to observation or measurement, the universe “exists” in a quantum superposition of every possible configuration of all possible universes. Upon observation, the universal wave function collapses, spawning a universe that evolves deterministically in accordance with mathematics—the Schrödinger Equation or something akin to it.
2. Measurement or observation: If the universe is a quantum system, who or what is the observer?
3. Initial conditions: Quantum cosmology tries to explain the initial state of the universe, such as the conditions at the Big Bang, using quantum principles. Note that the Big Bang—long an accepted theory about how the universe came into being—has come under some amount of criticism by respected cosmologists and physicists for reasons that are beyond the scope of this missive. In short, no one seems to be sure how “all of this” got started. But as yet there is no generally accepted alternative theory, only modifications of Big Bang, e.g., cosmic inflation.

Nested quantum systems are theoretically possible. In other words, a quantum system can exist embedded within another quantum system. Indeed, a large quantum system may be divided into many smaller subsystems, each of which will exhibit quantum behavior. For example, a molecule as a whole is a quantum system, but each atom within the molecule is another quantum system in its own right.

Furthermore, quantum systems may become entangled, meaning the state of one system is dependent on the state of the other. This can happen at multiple levels—possibly an infinite number—creating nested layers of entanglement within a large quantum system.

In complex quantum systems such as those found in biological organisms or quantum computers, it is possible to have multiple layers of quantum systems interacting with each other. Each layer follows quantum rules, and their interactions lead to complex behaviors which may be analyzed at different scales.

In summary, nested quantum systems illustrate the rich and intricate nature of quantum mechanics, where multiple layers of “reality” may coexist and influence one another.

Now I wish to consider universal quantum wave function collapse, gravity, and time. Some approaches to quantum gravity, such as the Wheeler-Dewitt equation, imply “timelessness” at the fundamental level. According to Wheeler-Dewitt, time as we know and experience it might emerge from a more profound, timeless quantum state. This “quantum-to-classical” transition on a universal scale is an area of active research and debate in theoretical physics.

Combining these ideas, if the universe is a quantum system comprised of other nested and interconnected quantum systems, it is conceivable that the initial “observation” leading to wave function collapse could happen simultaneously across all levels. Further, some theories of quantum cosmology suggest an interdependent, holistic relationship among quantum states within the universe.

Thus, in certain interpretations, the collapse of a wave function could be viewed as non-local. In this view, all entangled or nested parts of the universal quantum system collapse or reach definiteness simultaneously, as they are interdependent and not separable in the classical (space-time) sense.

Some ideas in theoretical physics, such as the holographic principle, suggest that each part of the universe reflects the whole. If the universe’s wave function collapses, this simultaneously informs and defines all subsystems within it, as each part contains information about the whole.

Quantum gravity and theories like Wheeler-Dewitt suggest that, at the most fundamental level, time is an emergent property rather than a fundamental one. If time arises only within the universe, then the “moment” of collapse could transcend our conventional idea of simultaneity, allowing for a kind of “timeless” or eternal collapse that is somehow “always” happening.

Finally, some interpretations propose that the universe “self-observes” through internal interactions, causing simultaneous collapse across all levels of the system. This self-referential observation might lead to a single, consistent state existing in one timeless, all-encompassing event.

This is the end of the summary of current science. Now I wish to share my own conclusions, drawn from the above science and informed by my experiences in meditative and other altered states of Consciousness:

1. The universe is a quantum system.

2. The observer is outside the system and cannot therefore be observed, seen, or understood by the system or any nested system (“person”) within it.

3. There is only a single observer for all quantum systems, and I am That (Aham Brahmasmi).

4. You are the observer of your quantum system, which is your own private universe arising out of you and being withdrawn back into you more or less continuously, creating the twin illusions of time and causality.

5. There is only One observer, and You are That—Tat Tvam Asi; and so am I—Aham Brahmasmi.

4. Each person lives alone in a universe of One.

3. All experience is mere reflection of the Observer. Otherwise the Observer has no way to experience Its own glory, as it perennially shines forth like the rays of the sun. A ray of the sun cannot bend back or turn around and illumine the sun. Only by virtue of being reflected off an object is it possible for the sun to experience its own luminosity.)

2. Human interactions are interactions between independent quantum systems—two or more universes colliding, as it were.

1. Time and causation are emergent—imputations of mind.

Peace

Addendum: A movie I highly recommend is Copenhagen, starring Daniel Craig as Werner Heisenberg and Stephen Rea as Niels Bohr, about their meeting in Copenhagen during the Second World War. It’s a fascinating study on the inner workings of the minds of brilliant men. Francisca Annis is also quite amazing as Bohr’s wife and confidante Magrethe.

Free on YouTube:

https://youtu.be/RTn9eKfH11M?si=nid2htk_79rln9k5

Consciousness serves Its own purpose.

Consciousness manifests as form in order to experience Itself for a short while before resolving back into formlessness.

Consciousness appears as cycles of birth and death, growth and decay, creation and destruction.

You and I and the cat sleeping at my feet are all individualized expressions of the one Consciousness.

As a wave appearing on the surface of an endless ocean of bliss, Consciousness dances for a moment with Itself as other waves,

before disappearing again into the vast sea of Its own tranquility.

Consciousness forgets Itself in this dance and comes to believe it exists only as this particular wave.

And then It remembers.

…these would be the prerequisites:

1. First prerequisite: Have attended at least one 10-day S.N. Goenka meditation retreat. I can teach meditation but they teach it better. I can refine what they teach and explain how it connects to a path to awakening. The two meditation techniques they teach—Anapanasati and Vipassana in the Burmese tradition—are tools. Trying to become enlightened without these tools would be like trying to bush hog a Kudzu field with a pair of scissors.

Meditation alone can not lead to awakening. Meditation is a tool—and mostly being taught poorly by modern “secular” meditation teachers such as Shinzen Young and Leigh Brasington, both of whom are charlatans. (I’ve sat retreats with both.)

Any system which purports to lead to awakening or enlightenment or “transcendence,” which ignores or fails to place emphasis on the importance of morality/ethics/karma, is a false teaching and a waste of time for those seeking the complete cessation of suffering. Moreover, any teacher who depends on teaching for his or her livelihood is operating under an inherent, per se conflict of interest. It follows that anyone who has the Dharma up for sale should be considered a charlatan until proved otherwise.

2. Second prerequisite: Abandon all forms of dishonesty. People who are engaging in dishonesty are still too caught up in the illusion to make much spiritual progress. The goal is to break free of the illusion, not get further bound up in it by creating webs of dishonesty.

Courageous honesty means a little light is shining through.

3. Third: Have developed a distaste for the world and all of its “pleasures.” Chasing sense pleasure satisfaction and ego gratification are like licking honey off the blade of a razor—anyone who hasn’t figured this out will keep drinking honey mixed with their own blood for a few million more rounds until they do.

Most of the people I used to know were still trying to wring permanent happiness out of worldly experiences and status. Either that or they had sort of accepted with “quiet desperation” that there was no joy to be found, yet they are still unable (caught up as they are) to seek spiritual or psychological help. These types will continue in the round until the suffering intensifies and humility ensues, at which time awareness will begin to dawn.

4. No remaining strong worldly attachments. This precludes most women with children.

5. Has the ability to understand that without silence no music is possible. Understanding this, a curiosity about the silence will arise, along with a desire to pay attention to it using the aforementioned tools. Then, after doing that for a while, the silence becomes more compelling than the notes, and the notes become superfluous and disappear. This can be frightening.

Keep going! Because at some point the notes return, and the primordial symphonic harmony is restored!

This is the peace that surpasses all understanding, the bliss of the Buddha.

Peace

P.S. I too am a charlatan.

Science is as much a myth as religion.

If you don’t believe me, start looking into particle physics. Particles are what stuff is made of. Everything you experience—your body, your clothes, your house, your car, your friends—literally every thing is composed of particles.

Every thing is composite.

Particle physicists study particles. The basic gist of what they spend their time doing is, they split particles open, attempt to isolate the constituents of such particles, and then they study those constituents.

The idea, it seems, is to finally arrive at the Constituent of all Constituents: the fundamental, foundational (initial?) particle.

Which is sort of a fool’s errand, but it gives particle physicists job security for as far into the future as they wish to continue the search.

When scientists first discovered the atom, they believed that they had located the fundamental particle. The word “atom” comes from the Latin átomos. In Latin, “a” means not; and “tomos” means divisible. Atom: not divisible.

Which ended up being a misnomer because it turns out that atoms are divisible. We call their constituents subatomic particles, or hadrons. That was the science I was being taught way, way back, when I was in high school. I remember studying and being fascinated by the various combinations of neutrons, protons, and electrons that form atoms, and from atoms elements.

(I pay homage now to my high school science teacher, Mr. Lindsey J. Forester, III.)

So basically particle physicists keep on breaking stuff open and coming up with new stuff, which then requires a further breaking open—this is reductionism. They’ve even built a huge machine (over 17 miles long) called the Large Hadron Collider, near Geneva, Switzerland. This machine uses magnets to accelerate particles to near the speed of light, then smashes them into each other. Particle physicists watch all this to see if any other particles are generated by this high-energy/low mass collision.

And they’ve discovered some weird and mysterious stuff. For example there is a particle called a gluon which is massless.

Try to get your head around the idea of a particle which has no mass. If you’re a hard-core materialist there will be a quiz on this later.

Well I’ve got some news for everyone: there is no end to reductionism. Which means there is no fundamental particle or thing. Even if scientists were to build a collider the size of the universe, a fundamental particle will never be discovered. There will always be more.

It’s turtles all the way down.

Down to what? No one will ever be able to say. It’s not something, and it’s not nothing. And it’s not neither something nor nothing, nor is it both. It is not even an “it.”

I have realized this from meditation and contemplation of certain Buddhist philosophical ideas which hold that every thing is a composite—made of other, ever smaller things. So every time particle physicist tear apart one thing, the constituents of that thing will themselves be comprised of other things which are themselves composite.

The regression is infinite.

Thus there is not now and never will there be found a fundamental particle. Which means particle physicists will always have more things to play around with. If you were to die and be reborn 2500 years from now, lots of things will have changed. But there might very well still be a contingent of the future version of particle physicists building larger and larger colliders, busily in search of the so-called God particle.

Imagine if there were a fundamental particle and someone discovered it. That person would be awarded a Nobel Prize and their stature would immediately eclipse that of Newton. But then of course the science of particle physics would shut down and particle physicists would all need to get new jobs. So this Buddhist philosophical idea that I’m talking about should be celebrated by particle physicists, to the extent that they enjoy their work and desire job security.

Here’s the way it works at a more fundamental philosophical level: As long as there is a strong enough collective desire to search for new particles, new particles will emerge to be “discovered.”

It’s sort of like a Mandelbrot set.

The same thing happens with respect to time. And now I wish to pivot and discuss very briefly the sciences which deal with the origin of the material universe—mostly cosmology and quantum mechanics. As long as there are curious scientists, the mysteries of deep space, black holes, the Big Bang (or not), inflation theory, string theory, etc. will continue to deepen. Some mysteries will be apparently resolved, while others will remain forever intractable. To the extent that a mystery becomes resolved via science, the resolution itself will spawn further mysteries. And so on.

Science therefore fails ultimately to provide any rational explanation for anything. All of the discoveries of science rest on premises and principles which are not now and never can be understood or explained. Kurt Gödel has already proved this mathematically.

So science is simply a way—one way—to attempt to make sense of and explain what most people perceive as phenomenal reality. Religions and mystical traditions offer other ways. One way is not necessarily better or more true or more accurate than another.

People who believe that science is the end-all, be-all of everything don’t really understand science. They haven’t looked deeply enough into it.

The best technique is to study and understand as many different metaphysical systems as one dares, seeing them all as mere conceptual frameworks superimposed over some great mystery which is not and can never be within the purview of human understanding.

In short, science is as much a myth as religion.

By taking this view, science and religion begin to harmonize and complement each other, rather than standing in mutual contrast and opposition.

Whatever you believe is your reality.

So you’d better be careful what you believe. The best option might be to abandon all belief in anything except God, which is just a simple word I sometimes use to describe the deep mystery of being.

Peace

“Be here now.” It’s the mantra of many a guru. 1960s Harvard psychologist turned acid freak, turned disciple of Indian guru, turned guru himself Richard Alpert (aka Ram Dass) even wrote a book and named it that. I’ve read it.

I’ve never actually read anything that would tend to explain how exactly one is supposed to go about being here now. First one would need to inquire into what exactly the word “now” means in this context.

What exactly is “now?” Might we say that “now” is the dividing point between past and future? That sounds plausible to me.

So now we must inquire further into what past and future are. Most people think of their past as their actual history. The actual history of who they are.

Is this a correct view? Is it a correct view for me to believe that my “past” is the history of who I am?

There’s a lot of history there, and most of it not remembered. So is it possible that, instead of being the actual history of who I am, the past is instead a story I’ve cobbled together from bits and pieces of remembered events and people? Am I not simply making up my past by telling myself a story and then believing it?

And what is the future? It’s the space where all of my hopes and dreams and plans reside. It’s that space in which I hope to live a long and happy life and watch my children grow. Or make a billion dollars. Or become an actor. Or merely survive. It’s that space “out there” where some or all of these dreams and aspirations may or may not come true.

So it’s really also just a story being spun up in the mind.

So now I’ve established that the past isn’t the actual history of who I am. It’s just a story I’m making up from this point now looking backwards. I am believing that story and claiming it as “my past.”

Future is a story which contains hopes, dreams, aspirations, fears, etc.

So let us say that “now” is the middle point between two stories: the story of my past and the story of my future.

<—-Story of my past—♻️—Story of my future—->

If there are many regrets, failures, shoulda-woulda-coulda stuff; or if there are many “look how great I am because I did x, y, and z” that’s a huge complicated story.

If there are a great many hopes, dreams, aspirations, anticipated outcomes, etc., that’s a huge complicated story.

Most people’s pasts are huge complicated stories.

Most people’s futures are huge complicated stories.

What happens when one begins, on a spiritual path, to un-complicate the stories of past and future, is that the present moment goes from having been infinitesimally small and never noticed (although it’s always there) to the beginning of an expansion. (Einstein told us that time is relative.) So cutting loose from stories of past and future gives “be here now” a little room to grow.

In many ways, deep spiritual work of the seeker on the path of inquiry and self-reflection (Jnana Yoga) is the work of dismantling past and future.

Cutting off completely the story of one’s past is to lose completely one’s identity.

Cutting off completely the story of one’s future is the abandoning of the desire to exist (let alone all the other stuff).

“Free from all old stories I’ve been told, I walk through the valley of my own shadow.“

-Yaima, Gajumaru, https://youtu.be/qTse2hkPxYU?si=Y1MiirrHi9y_5nuJ

When this happens, the present moment expands infinitely. And I find myself right here, right now—exactly where I’ve always been.

Peace

I do a type of meditation where I go back meditatively to the beginning of the universe.

I’ve written before that the foundational philosophical element of the universe is word, or sound. This is the sound A-U-M, or Om. Meditating on the syllable OM single-pointedly will cause a meditative regression all the way back to the first syllable (physics: field vibration) which proliferated into this material universe which is being experienced in this instant.

In the instant you are reading this.

The universe ceases to be in me—indeed it is absorbed into me and then regurgitated again.

If you take the view that “OM” as ultimate reality your view is corrupted. Therefore you can, by definition, only meditatively regress that far. The level of corruption of view is directly related to the level of meditative absorption (samadhi).

The ultimate reality is shunya. Once this is meditated on analytically until some understanding dawns, one may be able to meditatively regress to OM, and then abandon OM.

Thus, the desire to exist must be abandoned and one must allow oneself to disintegrate completely and irretrievably.

This is easier said than done.

Peace

This is meant to be the first part of a discussion and comparison of conceptualizations of “ultimate reality” according to Mahayana Buddhism on the one hand and Advaita Vedanta on the other. This first part discusses ultimate reality mostly from the view of Advaita Vedanta. I write from my own experiences in samadhi and with knowledge I have gained over the past seven years of gradually disengaging from the world to devote most of my time to meditation and study of Mahayana Buddhism, Advaita Vedanta, and the original teachings of Jesus the Christ.

The word “Advaita” is Sanskrit, meaning “non-secondness.” The idea is that ultimate reality is non-dual, which is to say one only, without a second.

Let’s consider this idea of one only without a second as it applies to concepts of both space and time.

With regard to time, one only without a second implies no before or after. If “this present moment” is one only, without a second, it must be eternal—without any moments prior to or next.

If ultimate reality takes up all time, as it were, “prior to” and “next” are precluded or subsumed. Prior to and next are thus demonstrated as products of mind only—parts of a conceptual framework being superimposed over the one eternal ultimate reality of this present moment.

With regard to space, if there is only thing, that thing must exist everywhere, which is to say it must take up all possible space, leaving no room for anything else.

Otherwise there would exist some space, somewhere, where ultimate reality would be absent, establishing at least two other realities: (1) the space—regardless how small and even if empty of objects—in which ultimate reality is absent, and (2) the boundary between the space where the ultimate reality is present and that in which it is absent. Indeed, ultimate reality as one without a second must be unbounded, because the existence of a boundary—itself—would constitute a second reality or thing.

Ultimate reality collapses distinctions between space and time.

Conceptual frameworks obscure ultimate reality in the minds of ignorant beings, who take the frameworks themselves as real. Imagine driving across a desert for the first time not knowing anything about mirages and seeing a mirage appear in the distance. Mind creates a conceptual framework in which a pool of water exists in the middle of a desert. A pool of water is believed into being where none actually exists.

The perceived pool of water arises in mind only—part of a conceptual framework superimposed over the underlying reality of no water. Moreover, as long as the mirage is taken to be real, the underlying reality of no water will be obscured and not perceived.

Anyone who is firmly convinced that the only existent reality is the day-to-day reality they perceive via their five senses will regard the idea of an ultimate realty—a reality existing apart from, outside of, or prior to that which is available via the senses—the same way they regard ghost stories, fairy tales, and Bigfoot.

[These people must also implicitly deny the existence of God, regardless of what they might say if asked.]

Advaita Vedanta supplies a name for ultimate reality: Brahman. This should be understood as being for convenience only, purely in order to facilitate discussion and not as indicating any type of person or entity or any thing whatsoever.

It is possible to use reason to gain an intellectual understanding of all of the above. This is not enlightenment. Enlightenment requires an actual meditative experience of ultimate reality: a complete shut down of all production of conceptual overlays. One has an actual experience of pure being. Which is to say, one becomes pure being. Or one disappears and pure being only remains. This is what I define as enlightenment or awakening.

In order to make a complete collapse of all conceptual overlay possible at all, a firm intellectual understanding of everything discussed above must arise. It can not and will not arise in a mind which continues to be substantially involved and caught up in the affairs of the world. This is the reason that a prerequisite to enlightenment is having experienced the arising of a firm distaste for the world and all of its illusory attractions and pleasures.