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The
Inner Life
by
Jasmin Lee Cori
 If
you want to be rich
stop chasing after the things of the world.
Go inside.
What you will find will stop you dead
and you will want no more.
This is the essence of most, if not all,
spiritual teachings. The real riches lie in the
kingdom within, yet many people live their whole
lives not knowing how to find them. Their
energies are absorbed in the outer world,
keeping up with the demands of a busy life. The
only inner life they know is really the inside
lining of the outer life, for it consists almost
entirely of their emotional and mental
involvement with the world around them.
There is another inner life. We may enter
it through this surface layer, but it goes far,
far beyond that. It is concerned, not so much
with the ups and downs of our personal lives,
but with our deeper relationships with life and
spirit. It is concerned with an inner nature
that is the ground of everything.
Although culture at large does not support
this inner life, there is growing interest in
it. The marketplace is booming with books,
classes, and workshops, all appealing to this
hunger for a more genuine, free, actualized
life. While there is much that we can learn from
these sources, we must remember that real
freedom is not something that anyone can sell
us. We cannot purchase enlightenment, any more
than our ancestors could purchase salvation. We
need to learn how to re-source our inner life by
once more making our way to the source of it.
It is a long journey with many paths, some
straight and narrow, others circular and
inclusive. If you want the straight and narrow
path, I suggest you find a spiritual teacher and
make this your life. For most of us, that won't
work. We take what may look like (and be) a
longer route, but the changes we make are broad
and sweeping. We're not necessarily in a hurry.
The goal is not just to get enlightened, but to
self-actualize as well.
TWO JOURNEYS
In a sense, there are two journeys: one to
find ourselves and one to lose ourselves. Of
course it is not that simple. At different
levels, the truth looks different. That is why
the teachings of sages like Ramana Maharshi at
times sound contradictory. Many of Ramana's
teachings are a record of his responses to
questions asked by various seekers. His answers
were tailored to the individual needs and
consciousness of the questioner. Just as the
view from the mountain looks different from
different vantage points, so too the view of
reality varies according to our level of
consciousness.
This is why the relationship between these
two journeys is so difficult to describe. Some
would say that they are really one journey, and
they would be correct. Others claiming the same
thing would not be correct because they would
mean something quite different by it. Because I
think there is more harm right now in equating
the two processes than in differentiating them,
I am emphasizing the distinction.
Many of today's popular books on spiritual
growth deal more with finding yourself and
expanding that self than with the ruthless task
of losing yourself. Self-actualization, which
can be defined as fulfilling all of one's unique
human potential, becomes confused with
Self-Realization, defined as knowing your true
identity as the more universal Self.
Actually, I don't like using the word
"self" in this context because it is so
intricately wed in most of our minds with the
sense of individual identity. When we are
talking about the transpersonal ground of being
that is our true nature, we might better
describe it as the "suchness," the "beingness,"
the "isness" that constitutes everything. It is
a far cry from the individual self, which,
because of our identification with it, keeps us
from knowing this larger Self. To keep this
distinction clear, I always capitalize the word
"self" when referring to this deeper, broader
experience.
The journey to find ourselves (the first
journey) is the process of individuation. When
we realize what this really involves, we see
that it is a journey very few people complete.
Few break free from the conditioning of the past
to fully and completely express their unique
being. So it is fitting that much of our
collective attention, as well as the fields of
psychology and personal growth, are concerned
with shepherding people through this process.
Much of what I say about contemplative
life can be applied to this first journey.
Making space to be with yourself, examining the
issue of identity, becoming more open and
present, learning to tolerate stillness and to
let go of control -- all of these are useful to
the process of becoming a more authentic person.
They are also useful in the process of
losing ourselves (the second journey). By
becoming more open and more present, for
example, we come into deeper contact with the
larger Being, which allows us to recognize that
we are not the identity we carry around inside
our heads. This helps us let go of that identity
and know that we are not truly separate from the
larger unity, which is exactly what the second
journey is about. In a similar fashion, learning
to tolerate stillness not only helps us face
ourselves more squarely (the first journey), but
takes us beyond the activity of the ego. Without
that activity, the ego falls away (the second
journey). So the same process serves both ends,
depending on how deeply we pursue it.
It may be said that both journeys
culminate in knowing who we really are, yet they
do not point to the same thing. In the first
journey, what we discover is the authentic
person, without mask or self-limitation. In the
second journey, we learn that any such identity
is still only a part of the picture. It is still
the outer skin. In the second journey, we
discover that we are something much more eternal
and mysterious, something that can change into
almost any form and still be true to itself. It
is hard for our minds to grasp an identity that
is independent of the particulars in this way.
It helps if we can let go of our minds a little
bit and try to feel from our bodies and our
hearts.
The first journey is familiar to us. In
many ways, it is a self-improvement project. We
can use our usual motivations and strategies to
get behind it. The second journey, in contrast,
is a radical departure. We must let go of almost
everything we know, every familiar way of being.
It represents a complete metamorphosis. There is
a paradox here: as radical as this second
journey is, it can lead to an outer life that
looks totally ordinary.
In many Buddhist teachings, we hear the
idea that after enlightenment, all that is left
is chopping wood and carrying water. We don't
disappear into the ethers, but return to the
chores of daily life more embodied. We come into
our bodies and sensations in a way that allows
us to really experience them. The commentary --
the story we impose on life -- is gone, and what
is left is simply what is.
To some people, this seems to imply that
the experience of pure sensation is the totality
of spiritual life. This is not how I experience
it. When I am in deeper states, I sometimes feel
a fine presence that pervades everything. I am
in contact with vast dimensions inside of me --
or which I enter by going inside. Sometimes, it
is hard to tell what is inside and what is
outside, or which world is more real, although I
see that the outer world is but an expression of
this invisible reality. When chopping wood and
carrying water, I can be present to the wood and
the water, to my hands and my feet, and I can
also be present to the formless essence that
makes the universe sing.
THE ROUTE HOME
The two journeys contain many roads. The
journey to find ourselves includes personal
growth work, psychotherapy, education,
relationships, parenting, career, interests,
spiritual community, and much more. Often, it
follows the shape of our lives. The first
journey is broad and inclusive.
The second journey is not. It whittles us
down rather than builds us up. We lose structure
rather than gain it. In the second journey, it
doesn't really matter what you do for a living,
how fulfilling your relationships are, or what
temple you pray in. It doesn't matter what you
wear. (In the first journey, there can be a lot
of experimentation with personal style and
appearance.) The second journey strips us of all
that. In some sense, we are stripped of our
individuality -- or what we have taken to be our
individuality. We give up many of the outer
distinctions, not because they are bad and
should be extinguished, but because they are not
our true being. This is not to suggest that our
true being is some homogeneous mush in which
everyone is the same. There is a uniqueness that
the mind cannot anticipate and that can only be
known when we come upon it in our inner travels.
What is this reducing diet? What can
whittle us away like this? Hard spiritual work.
This doesn't necessarily mean twelve hours on a
meditation cushion with a Zen master whacking
you on the back. It doesn't require a guru who
throws your ego onto the ground and humiliates
you. It doesn't necessarily come with years of
selfless service. Any of these may be part of
your path, but there are gentler ways as well.
What I am describing
in this book is an entrance ramp to a
contemplative lifestyle that can fit into the
modern world, that honors individual
differences, and that is true to the natural
intelligence that is operating through the
universe and in each person who knows how to get
out of the way and listen. Contemplation is
about listening. It is not about ordering God
around, not about creating rituals to manifest
our desires, not about secret formulas for
spiritual transformation. Contemplation is the
yin of spiritual life. It is the receptive side
of things.
Thus it is not about controlling, but
about giving up control; not about knowing, but
about entering the way of unknowing; not about
getting more, but about giving up everything
that stands between you and the no-thing-ness of
your true nature. The mystical way of expressing
this is to say that the contemplative life is
about giving yourself to the Beloved, about
surrendering everything between you and God.
Such terms are stark and demanding, and I
don't want to scare people. When you feel
mystical passion, you want to give everything;
before this, you may just want a quieter life,
to recognize the spiritual in the commonplace,
to find solace in silence. It is enough.
FRUITS OF CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE
Contemplative life is not a starvation
diet. A bounty of fruits lines the path all
along the way. One of the first of these fruits
is the sense of spaciousness that comes when we
stop filling all of our time. Because we are not
racing about, we have a sense of more leisure.
We slow down and smell the flowers.
As we break free of our conditioning and
listen to our own rhythms, we enjoy a sense of
harmony and flow. We feel more balanced because
we are not run by the requirements of outer life
alone, but have also begun to cultivate an inner
life. We come back to ourselves. What a relief!
We step out of the haze of our thoughts and come
into the moment. In a word, we become "present."
From this sense of presence, along with a
growing sense of connection, comes the feeling
of more meaning and, at the same time, less need
to articulate what that meaning is. We are not
living for something that is down the road. The
meaning is right here, in the moment.
Unresolved feelings may rise to the
surface as we sit and face ourselves, but we
know that this is the road to peace. We are no
longer running away. We are here, facing the
good and the bad, learning to hold it all.
These are juicy fruits, rewards enough for
our changes. But they are not all. As we deepen
into the second journey, we find an even more
abundant harvest. Most of these fruits come as
we release the small self. It is like stepping
out of a tin suit, free at last to be and move
without constraint. A whole new dimension of
being opens up inside of us. We come home, our
hearts overflowing with gratitude. The fruits of
our own essential nature are more wondrous and
delectable than we could have hoped -- the
sweetness of our own nature and the sweetness of
divine nature, one luscious ecstasy.
Am I exaggerating? Not at all. The
language may seem flowery, but the riches are
far greater than even the most superlative
descriptors. I don't mean to imply that
contemplative life is all some kind of honeyed
bliss. There are deserts to cross, times of
great aridity and discouragement, times when we
are terrified. But the fruits most certainly are
there, and the fruits are real. They liberate in
us a love that transforms us, giving us new eyes
through which we view the world. Here is a poem
about this experience.
New Eyes
Running through
the village
embracing everyone she meets,
she laughs in ecstasy.
People call her mad.
"New eyes!" she
cries.
"I have been given new eyes!"
And it is true.
For the scales which had previously blinded her
are gone now, erased
revealing such utter glory
that her mind took flight,
leaving only a rapturous heart
in an old, weathered body
racing through the streets
on fire with love.
Jasmin Cori,
Freefall to the beloved:
mystical poetry for God's lovers
(Boulder, CO: Golden Reed, 1996), p. 111.
 This
article is excerpted from The Tao of
Contemplation
by Jasmin Lee Cori, ©2000. Reprinted with
permission of the publisher, Samuel Weiser
Inc.
www.weiserbooks.com
Info/Order
this book.
About The
Author
Jasmin
Lee Cori is a licensed psychotherapist in
private practice who uses a transpersonal
approach to help people live from a deeper
place. After ten years of teaching
psychology and personal growth classes in a
number of colleges and professional
programs, she now turns her attention to
spiritual work and writing. She has written
The Tao of Contemplation,
Freefall to the beloved: mystical poetry for
God's lovers
and the forthcoming Trust Walk: A Journey of
Awakening. You may reach her at
jasminlee@juno.com
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