See God        (face to face)

Chapter One

I was standing on the same grassy promontory where John and I sat and talked after the memorial for Ben. John  had just contacted me, asking that I get in touch with a woman in Santa Barbara. Apparently, Ben had been scheduled to speak to the members of her group, and he asked that I speak to them in his place. John’s note didn’t say what I was supposed to talk about, but she told me that it was planned to be about the challenge of living a spiritual life in the modern world.

The cool wind was raking the bluff top and whipping my jacket as I watched a large hawk floating nearly motionless on the updraft. I felt the welcome warmth of the midday sun on my face as I looked into the distance. At the horizon the mountains of Santa Cruz Island rose out of the pale gray, low lying fog like a magical kingdom nestled in the clouds. The dense fog bank began several miles off shore from where I stood and completely engulfed the lower elevations of the Channel Islands some thirty miles away. As I stared at this dreamy seascape a large formation of pelicans, probably more than fifty of them, passed surprisingly close to me as they headed up the shoreline. I watched the Jurassic-like creatures silently glide past me, inhaled the cool ocean air and took a last look down the beautiful Gaviota coast before heading back.
I had gradually begun to return to something approaching functional. I was certain I would never again feel or be what we think of as normal. My encounter with what was at the very least the phenomenon mankind has been calling God for millennia, had left me awestruck and permanently changed. I wasn't changed in the sense that I was now a new version of myself, nor because I now possessed the memory of an experience which has eluded nearly all of mankind. The change was more profound than that. My encounter with God had caused some sort of mutation in me. It did not make me a better person, or cleanse me of all the imperfections of humanity, but it did seem to endow me with a new kind of vision.
As the days and weeks passed, I resumed my routines, anticipating the possibility of another visitation. It didn't happen and I made no effort to induce it. The entire experience would remain a perfect mystery of the highest order. I didn't know if I had contributed to or enabled the encounter, and, as directed, by something or someone, I made no attempt to analyze it. I simply went on, feeling very much like an alien in what used to be my world. I was an ordinary man who had been blind in the ways that we all seem to be, and then suddenly I was given the opportunity to see the rarest of all visions. Now, nothing would ever be the same. There could be no more doubt. There would be no more confusion. There would be no more belief posing as knowledge, and most importantly everything I examined or considered I saw in new ways with profound clarity.

I did a few chores back at the cabin, cleaned up a bit, and put on some nicer clothes for the talk. I did take a few minutes to write some notes. I wasn’t sure what kind of people were going to be at the meeting, but I guessed most of them would be older than I was, and they would probably know a lot more about religion or spirituality than I did. However, in light of what I had recently experienced, this didn’t seem to matter much. When you have been moved out of your body and irradiated by the presence of God, another person’s superior knowledge doesn’t seem so intimidating.

I arrived at the address about fifteen minutes early, and saw a few people standing out in front talking. It was a small hall barely the size of the houses in the neighborhood, and a block away from the tourist-filled sidewalks of State Street. Margaret, the woman I had spoken with, met me at the door and showed me into the meeting room. Although the room was small and the stucco walls appeared quite old, it was well lit and had been recently painted. She began introducing me to the people in the room as a student of Ben’s who was now taking over his work. I had no idea exactly what Ben’s work was since he and I had never discussed it. I assumed it must have been something similar to the many things he had taught me. I had never spoken before a group like this, and the room was beginning to seem even smaller and increasingly warm as people began taking their seats. Margaret moved to the lectern at the end of the meeting room and stood there for a moment waiting for the group to quiet. As if by an unseen signal, the entire group, perhaps thirty-five people, suddenly turned their attention to her.

“Good evening everyone and welcome. We have a special guest speaker this evening. As you all know, our community has lost one of its most beautiful voices. About a month ago, a tragic accident took the body of an important teacher who played a significant role in many of our lives. Tonight, we have as a very special guest, his student Michael, who has begun to assume some of Ben’s work. Michael has come this evening, with very little notice or time for preparation, to speak to us in Ben’s place. I hope that you find what he has to say both interesting and helpful.” She smiled at me and nodded as she moved to her seat in the front row.

“Good evening, my name is Michael Getty. I would like to start by saying that I very much wish that Ben was standing here right now, and I was sitting among you listening to him. I miss him dearly, as I am sure many of you do.

Tonight’s talk is about living a spiritual life in the modern world. Now, as we begin I want you to know that I have not come here this evening to lecture you, but rather to join you in a consideration of what is certainly the most important question we can have if we wish to lead a spiritual life.”

As I spoke, I felt words starting to flow out of me with only the smallest level of participation on my part. Surprisingly, I wasn’t self-conscious at all. In fact, I felt more like a member of the audience than I did the speaker.

“In order to understand what a truly spiritual life is, and how it can be lived in the modern world or in any other context, we must first ask a fundamental question. This question will guide us as we attempt to understand what it means to live this kind of life. The question is quite simply, “What is the truth?”. The exploration of this question is necessary in order to illuminate ourselves, our surroundings, and the universe we are part of. This question is the very foundation of a spiritual life, and as such it is the first step, whether you live in a monastery or the inner city of a metropolis. So, what is the truth, and where should we look for it? Should we look inside ourselves? Perhaps in our thoughts, or among our many memories. Should we search among the sea of words that others have written or spoken? Should we narrow this to an investigation of the scriptures of various religions? Should we immerse ourselves in the scientific knowledge that has been amassed? Should we sit in meditation and see if something comes to us? Should we seek out another to guide or enlighten us? Where do we look for our answer to this incredibly important question?”

I realized as I spoke that I wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. I felt as though I had become a conduit for insights that were flowing through me. It seemed my only role was to not interfere, to simply pay attention to what was being said, just as those seated in front of me seemed to be doing.

“That’s our most important consideration, but we must also ask, “How will we know for sure what is or isn’t truth?” Clearly, we must have the highest possible standards in this regard. I would like to suggest that in order to confirm that something we see is truth there are two criteria that must be met. First, the truth can never be anything but the truth. Second, to be the truth it must be universal, and that means in all places at all times. Anything less than this is at best simply valid or correct. Now let’s think about this for a second. In every one of the hundreds of billions of galaxies, in every molecule of this planet, in every version of this unending, everlasting moment, in all places and at all times the truth is the truth. Moreover, there is nothing, absolutely nothing that is not embodied by truth. Sounds pretty big, doesn’t it? I wonder why we have such a difficult time finding it?”

It reminded me of something that Ben might have said. The audience didn’t seem to react to the humor, so I let what might have become a smile fade before it could form.

“Now using this criteria we can see that truth must be far greater than the sum of our knowledge. As we all know, our knowledge is quite limited. Beyond its reach there is all that is unknown, and we couldn’t possibly guess how great that realm is. Nevertheless, we can certainly see that the truth by definition must include all of it. You might think that knowledge could contain elements or part of the truth, but remember that truth is not partial. It is universal. This means nothing we can remember, nothing we can think, nothing we can read, and nothing anyone else can tell us will answer our question with certainty. I imagine this might seem like a koan, in that we are seeking something that includes everything we don’t know, and perhaps will never know.” A couple of heads nodded slightly when I said this. “But when we don’t know where to look, knowing where not to look can be a great help, and it is clear that we cannot confine our search to what we know, or to what is known.”

I paused and took a sip of water, looking out at my audience. I had no idea where this was going, but I was getting concerned that it might be too dry or analytical for them.

“At this point, a new question arises. “How do we explore that which goes beyond what is known?” Thinking won’t be useful. Thought is limited to things that we know, or that we can imagine using what we know. Let’s consider this for a second. Can we even find the unknown? How often do we experience something that is completely unknown to us? As adults, it seems that this almost never happens. We experience new variations, new twists, new flavors, new songs, and so on. But how often are we unable to recognize what we experience? Almost never,” I answered for them.

“So, how do we move beyond the known in our effort to find the truth? Other people can’t lead us to the truth. Even if they are transcendent beings, their vision and wisdom is non-transferable. Each of us, as has always been the case, must make our own journey into the light. So, how do we proceed? How do we find and explore the unknown. Or, turning it around, how do we end our immersion in the known? Ahh, did you hear that?” I asked realizing that a breakthrough had just occurred.

“We just found a clue on how to proceed!”

I really was exploring these questions on the spot in front of this audience, and I was excited by the realization that had just occurred. I looked out at the group to see if anyone else saw what I just saw, and a few people had knowing expressions and were nodding their heads as though they got it too.

“What we just realized is that we have two options for exploring the unknown. One option requires that we are able to find and then explore that which we know nothing about. That‘s a tough one. The second option requires that we end our immersion in what is known. The moment we are no longer continuously focused within the realm of what is known, once we are free from the experiencing of what is familiar and identifiable, from that moment until we return to the familiar we are dealing with the unknown. You see we are always experiencing something, and if we aren’t experiencing what is identifiable and known to us, then and only then will we be experiencing the unknown. And this is something we can do. Do you know how? Do you know how to liberate yourself from your memories, your knowledge, your recognizable and familiar world? I do. In fact, that was the subject of my last conversation with the man who was supposed to be standing here tonight.”

I paused again and sipped some more water. I wanted to give them a moment to process all of this.

“OK. We need to know what the truth is in order to see what it really means to live a spiritual life, whether it be in Tibet, or a suburb, or the inner city, or on a farm, or in downtown Chicago, or anywhere else. In order to discover and explore the truth, we must first find it. Since truth must include all of the unknown in this universe and it cannot be partial, we must leave the realm of what is known behind, or we cannot proceed. Are we together up to this point?”

Heads nodded all around the room, but I also saw blank stares and knew this must be incredibly confusing for some.

“If this seems a bit obtuse, just hang in there. It may all fit together better in a few moments, and I will take some questions in a bit. All right, so just how do we liberate ourselves from the world of the known and familiar? Could we go somewhere that is completely different from all that we know? Well, even if we could, we would still be there, wouldn’t we? And as long as we are there, all that we know and all that is familiar to us will be there as well and our experiences will be filtered through it.  So, how do we move beyond it all? Well, it is both easier and harder than you might imagine. The secret to our liberation from the world that we know is found in stillness. When we are not thinking, when our emotional activity has stopped and its residue is replaced by a deep calm and abiding serenity, when our awareness floats at the apex of our being, like the iconic water lily on a mirror-like pond, then we have ended our immersion in the known. Then we are experiencing the unknown and unknowable. Then we can experience truth. But with the first thought that forms in our brain, with the first ripple of emotion, we are once again experiencing the usual. So, there it is. The secret path to the truth. We end our immersion in the known and familiar by ending the activities that continuously surround us with them. We stop thinking. We stop the deep waves of emotional activity, and our awareness rests in perfect peace at the apex of our being. This is the threshold of truth, and for as long as we experience this threshold or that which is beyond it, we are living a truly spiritual existence. As soon as we return to our thinking and the emotions that both cause and result from our thoughts, we are immediately immersed in the known, and truth can no longer be seen. There you have it. Amazingly simple, and surprisingly difficult.”

I paused at this point, and looked down at the notes I had scribbled earlier.

“Now, before I take any questions you might have, there is one more element to this awareness of truth that I would like to discuss. The moment we see something, our brain will identify it and we will be instantly immersed in familiarity again.”

I stepped away from the podium and acted out what I was saying.

“So here I am sitting in perfect stillness, acutely aware, and deeply calm. My experiencing has become expansive and I am at the threshold of the truth, when suddenly I notice that my coffee table needs to be dusted. I mean it really needs to be dusted. Bam, just like that, I’m back in my same old familiar world.”

A couple of people chuckled and many heads were nodding. I smiled and continued.

“So, how do we stay there once we manage to get there? How do we keep from being drawn back into the world of the known? Ben taught me a wonderful technique which prevents us from reflexively identifying everything we see and thereby losing our ability to experience truth. It isn’t the fact that we are surrounded by things we automatically recognize that makes our experiencing of the unknown so difficult. It is the way that we see them that keeps us locked into their familiarity. We have been taught to see everything as separate from all other things, and to see all the ways in which each thing is different. There is an entirely different way of seeing the world. When seeing in this other way, everything is experienced as part of everything else, and all of the qualities that things have in common are observed, not the distinguishing characteristics. When you are seeing in this other way, there is only one thing in front of you, and it is everything. You don’t focus on this, then that, then that over there, and that over there and so on. You see all of it at once. You see the entire world before you, whatever it is-your living room, the ocean, a park, whatever-as a single all encompassing entity without separate components. There are many things about this kind of vision that are incredibly important to living a spiritual life, but for the subject of this evening’s talk, it is a kind of vision that transforms the familiar parts of the world into an unfamiliar singularity that doesn’t pull us back into the realm of the known. When you are seeing in this way, you are experiencing a world that is completely unknown to you.”

The irony was that I had been seeing all of them in this way throughout the talk. I waited a few seconds so they could digest that last point, and then asked if there were any questions. A woman in the front row raised her hand slightly with her finger pointing up. I nodded to her.

“Why isn’t what is known ever the truth?”, she asked.

“Well, it certainly is encompassed by the truth, but things that are known are at best justified beliefs, and as such are reasonable and useful fragments of information. Not the truth. Such things quickly become iconic in our lives and are then a barrier to truth, and eventually illusions mistaken for truth.  Let me explain that. There is a beautiful, young sycamore tree in front of this building. Now would you agree with me that this is the correct name for this organism?”

She nodded her head.

“So, we both know that this life form is a sycamore tree. That is an example of what is known being valid. Now, here is where the illusion comes in. The word “sycamore”, like all words, was invented, and we all agree that it is used to represent that kind of organism, as can the word “tree”, and “plant”, and so on. A symbol, such as a word, may be in the form of sound or it may be a graphic design. It becomes valid when we agree on its meaning, but it never becomes what it represents. It is always a symbol, and the fact that we agree to pretend it is interchangeable with the thing it symbolizes doesn’t change the fact that it is simply a sound or mark of some sort. So this is the first part of the illusion of knowledge. Now, how many times have you seen that tree?”

“Dozens of times, I’m sure. I helped pick it out when we landscaped the front yard.”

“Perfect. Now, since this tree is alive, would you agree that it is continuously changing? Leaves die and drop, new ones grow, branches break off in the wind, and so on.”

“Of course.”

“So, you are familiar with the identity and some of the history of this tree, and although it is known to you, because it is alive it is never exactly the same, is it?”
“No, not exactly.”

“But its identity doesn’t change every time it does, does it?”

“No.”

“So, this is the second part of the illusion, an unchanging identity for an ever-changing fact. Now, can we agree that this sycamore tree out in front of the building is and always has been part of this universe?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Has it ever been separate or in any way removed from the rest of the universe?”

“No, I don’t see how anything could be.”

“Exactly. So this beautiful tree is an inseparable part of the universe? But is the rest of the universe, which it is never separate from, a part of its identity that we have knowledge of?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Its identity refers to it alone.”

“I agree. So, there is the third part of the illusion which has validity for us. Our knowledge of this tree excludes everything that this tree can never be separated from. Now, one last point. With the benefit of science informing our consideration, would you agree that this organism we have knowledge about and identify as the familiar sycamore tree in front of the hall, is actually trillions and trillions of active atoms, molecules, and cells?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Yet, that is not the knowledge that we experienced when I first asked about the beautiful, young sycamore tree out in front. We all thought of its appearance, and some of you also had familiarity with its history. So, this part of the illusion of knowledge deals with the fact that what we know is not the fact itself, but rather valid information about it. So here is the conclusion. Truth is the fact of the universe in this ever-changing and eternal moment. Knowledge, what we know, the known, is useful or agreed upon information regarding aspects or elements of the universe, but it is always partial, stored in the form of symbols or memory, and it will never achieve the universality of truth.”

Several more hands went up and I continued to discuss their questions for at least another half hour.  Margaret asked that I come back in three weeks to speak again on the topic of my choosing. I felt some reluctance, but agreed.

  The cabin was twenty miles from downtown, and the last fifteen miles were sparsely populated and dark beneath a sparkling night sky.  I stopped alongside the canyon road before it narrowed between rock walls, and stood next to the car staring up at ten thousand stars and the mysteries within and beyond them. 

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