On his excellent blog, my friend (teacher?) Dirk Liesenfeld recently posted an article discussing (in German of course) a question that we probably all have asked ourselves – what happens once you reach enlightenment?
As a child I asked myself a similar question – doesn’t heaven sound really boring? Of course that’s actually a bit of a different question since here we are talking not about individual life perpetuated after death, but about continued life before death when all striving is nonetheless over. Still these questions have in common that they both cast doubt on how hard one should try to attain salvation and, in particular, is there any great rush?
Dirk describes us two scenarios. One leads to physical death and/or insanity (that one is particularly unappealing), the other to living in an almost unnoticed state of bliss, as pure love. Statistically the former case seems to predominate – though that may of course just be because the latter cases make a lot less noise. You get crazy, he says, in particular when the whirlwind of enlightenment tears up the roots of your humanity. There is nothing wrong with that craziness, per se, but it must seem unattractive to a potential disciple and certainly it seems a bit of a waste that someone who could share so much with the world doesn’t end up doing so. Though whether the world has the slightest interest in listening is, of course, another question.
The problem I have is that to feel estranged from daily life really doesn’t require one to be enlightened. It doesn’t even require one ever to have experienced tantra or any other authentic spiritual experience. It requires no more than a certain sensitivity to the complete madness and cruelty that surrounds us and its shocking juxtaposition to what is truly of value and beautiful. One of the main obstacles to spiritual growth must be, surely, the unbearableness of that shocking realization of human suffering, Weltschmerz. How much of it, indeed, can one person bear without going crazy?
In the world I know, the one I know in my heart I mean, all things are sacred. The joy that we experience in contact with others and with the world around us is beyond words. People love each other. No one would hurt a child. And this is not some idle utopia, nor even confined to tantra workshops, it is a part of my daily reality.
A much greater part, though, is spent being painfully reminded of how much the few positive things I can bring into the world are massively outweighed by the brutality of the established order. That’s both depressing and a major weight around my shoulders. It seems likely that this great mass of deadly inertia affects me negatively much more than I affect it positively.
Although I do not think my views are exceptionally odd or unnatural, I do find it very difficult to make any connection with the way most people think. It tires and bores me to have to listen to their stereotypes, prejudices and hatefulness. It tires and bores me to have to explain that, no, I don’t think like that and, yes, life is quite fine without such ludicrous baggage around my neck (or is it, in fact? for it is also rather lonely).
My partner and I organized, once, a party in lingerie. Half of our friends were so shocked by the very idea of this that they haven’t spoken to us since (and that’s the ones we dared to invite – of course there were plenty who never even got onto the guest list). Of those who did come, some were convinced we intended an orgy. Others, a few, came and had fun. But not one has tried anything similar, and most have not even invited us back to anything at all.
Personally, I simply didn’t and still don’t get what the issue could be. Isn’t that just fun? And as for any sex occurring – isn’t that both very unlikely and not a big deal? So what exactly is going on? Why do the most varied people suddenly gang up against me whenever I want to be just, well, normal, honest, natural? And why is it so hard to find anyone else on the same wavelength?
I have frankly no answer to this question. The only thing I can say is that if even the slightest authenticity is so difficult for the world around me to bear, there seems little point in settling for half measures.