The Simplicity of What Is

If we let all our ideas go, what remains?

What if everything, without exception, is just this, this unnameable IS-ness, this openness Here-Now appearing in infinitely varied ways, this ungraspable presence, this indivisible aliveness?

What if, in this one bottomless moment, nothing could ever be other than exactly how it is? What if it is all happening spontaneously, without any author, planner, controller, designer at the helm?

What if we relax and simply be, just as we are, which doesn’t exclude being moved to meditate, exercise, eat well, undergo psychotherapy or anything else life moves us to do, but it doesn’t require any of that either. In fact, is it ever possible to be anything other than exactly what we are in each instant?

We are, at least in part, biological organisms programed to survive, and so naturally, we seek security, comfort, certainty and control. Unlike other animals, we have enormous powers of conceptual thought and imagination. We can imagine future scenarios, positive and negative. Understandably, we are uncomfortable with uncertainty and insecurity. The bodymind is vulnerable and impermanent, and we know it, so we try to construct some kind of imagined invulnerability and permanence. But perhaps the only permanence and invulnerability is right at the very heart of impermanence and vulnerability.

No one really knows what anything is or what will happen next, so we create authority figures—popes, gurus and sages—and imagine that they know the answers and can tell us what to do and assure us that all is well. Everything is dissolving second by second, and this frightens us, so we imagine things that don’t dissolve. We have many words and ideas about what everything is, words and ideas that give us the illusion of security and control, but the words and ideas can never capture the living actuality.

What if we simply lived with the reality of not knowing, the reality of vulnerability and insecurity, the reality of impermanence, the reality of being here without answers, with no authorities to tell us where we’re going or what to do? What if we stopped looking for extraordinary experiences and permanent states of unending happiness? What if we simply enjoyed ordinary life—brushing our teeth, going to work, washing the dishes, navigating the freeway, emptying the ostomy bag, changing the diapers, cleaning up the dog shit, doing the laundry—just this.

Is it possible to find beauty and joy in the simplest of things—the sounds of traffic, the chirping of a bird, an airplane passing overhead, rain hitting the roof—the myriad kaleidoscopic shapes and colors, shades and textures all around us, the play of light and shadow—the aroma of coffee, the taste of it, the felt-sense of the warm cup in our hands? Is it possible to deeply appreciate something as simple as drinking a glass of cool water, smelling rain-drenched earth, feeling a cool breeze on the skin? Do we need something more magnificent, more extraordinary, more transcendental?

What if we were at peace knowing that the inner weather would not always be sunny, that relationships would not always end well, that mistakes would be made, that empires would rise and fall, and that no one is in control of our lives or this universe?

When difficulties arise—a dark mood, a feeling of anxiety, a wave of depression, a sense of loneliness or boredom, physical pain, challenging circumstances—what happens if we stop thinking and ruminating about whatever it is and just let it be exactly as it is? Is that possible? And if it isn’t, can we simply be curious about rumination—how it operates, how it feels in the body? What is it, really? Not to come up with an answer, but to explore it directly and let it reveal itself.

How is it if we shift attention from thinking to sensing? What if we let the labels go and tune into the actual felt experience? What happens if we stop calling things difficulties or problems? We don’t have to substitute positive labels for the negative ones, but what if we have no labels or ideas about these occurrences at all? Just the bare actuality itself.

What if we approach the bare actuality in the same way we might approach a beautiful flower or a beloved friend? Is it possible to explore the sensations with open awareness, to fully feel them, to allow them to unfold and change shape and dissolve and re-form and shift and do whatever they do?

If we’re wondering about a question such as free will, or what the self is or isn’t, instead of simply listening to what others say, can we explore the question directly, experientially, for ourselves, without knowing what we might find? Is it possible to remain open to new discoveries, to seeing the unexpected? Can we question all our beliefs and assumptions?

Do we know what our next thought or our next impulse will be? Without the labels, what is any of this? Not to come up with another verbal-conceptual answer, but to simply be open to the ever-changing, unresolvable, unpindownable living actuality. Is that possible, if only for moments at a time?

And even when attention is completely caught up in and mesmerized by thoughts, concepts and stories, is that anything other than this same living actuality? Can it be noticed how ephemeral and impermanent it all is, even the ideas of solidity and continuity?

What if life isn’t about crossing some imaginary finish-line or becoming somebody special? What if there is no purpose, no added meaning other than the meaningfulness of simply being alive?

What if we are simply here as this unavoidable, already occurring, present experiencing, just as it is? What if we don’t need to improve or fix ourselves or know what this is?

What if all the words we’ve learned (Consciousness, Awareness, Oneness, God, Radiant Presence) are unnecessary reifications of an ungraspable no-thing-ness? That doesn’t mean they can’t be used, or that that they may not be evocative or descriptive in helpful ways, but can they be held lightly?

Present experiencing, aware presence, THIS is clear and obvious, impossible to miss. But we try to grasp it and nail it down, and then we feel like, “I don’t get it.”

But here it always is. Our morning tea. The breakfast dishes. The barking of the neighbor’s dog. The sunlight coming in the window. Just this. Ever-changing, ever-present, alive, always moving but never departing from the immediacy of here and now. We can’t get it; we are it. It is all there is.

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Finally, I want to share and highly recommend this wonderful article, Already Here, Already Welcomed, by my friend John Astin. It also has some announcements about upcoming events that John is doing, including a second book group that he and Dena Evans are offering on the teachings of Peter Brown, another wonderful teacher. Here’s a brief excerpt from John’s article:

Feel the unstoppable, pouring forth of life that is each instant, each experience, each momentary perception. In every moment, reality assumes a different shape and form, a different flavor, a different texture, a different quality. But all of it is reality, all of it life's emanation, life's effulgence.

—John Astin, from Already Here, Already Welcomed

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I’m very grateful to all of you for being here. We all need each other. We’re one whole inseparable happening, inseparable from the whole cosmos, and yet each of us is a totally unique and never to be repeated expression. We’re not here to be someone else. We each have a unique path, and no one knows what anyone else needs or what anyone else should do. We each have to find our own way, but we’re not alone. I learn from, and am changed by, everyone I meet.

We’re like an orchestra in which we each play a different instrument and have a different part. The violins aren’t meant to be like the trumpets, and the drums aren’t supposed to sound like the flutes. Play your own part whole-heartedly, and enjoy the music. Dissonance is included. Everything is included.

Love to all…