In the dream, I saw a figure sitting perfectly still under an ancient fig tree. I realized at once that it was the Buddha Siddhartha in his spot beneath the Bodhi tree, in Bodh Gaya, Bihar, India, in 500BC. I was witnessing his moment of enlightenment. His visage was like a definitive dense white mist, with an essence of gold or yellow purling within – I thought this was perhaps a golden robe that he wore as he sat meditating. He sat in perfect lotus position, legs crossed and leaning slightly forward, as if he were a stone statue that had been there for an age, and was weary for how long it had taken to dissolve into a state of perfect enlightenment. I wondered at the experience of enlightenment, the dedication, the faith, the perseverance. I considered what thought might have occurred to him in his moment of awakening; however, I am then immediately corrected – there is no thought, only the experience of pure unadulterated consciousness emanating through this vehicle (the body). I am made to understand that, throughout our lives, the natural state of original consciousness becomes diluted, obscured and polluted with social conditioning and our cravings, desires and grasping for things and for experience that appeals to the five senses: the five senses, which, through lack of true awareness and realization, I have become slave to. My beliefs and habituated thinking create well-worn pathways that become increasingly difficult to step away from.
I wanted very much to ask a question of Buddha Siddartha, overjoyed as I was to have the rare privilege of actually seeing him and experiencing something of his moment of perfect enlightenment.
I thought, if he held no thought in his mind, he must yet be able to observe his surroundings. The deer grazing and resting peacefully nearby; the warm breeze infused and aromatic with the scent of sky and earth. I wonder, were there other mendicants and spiritual seekers who were there with him, or was he left in peace and solitude throughout? I recall that he had observed much profound suffering after his willing departure from the so called privileged life he lived as a young prince. I wondered again at the nature of a creator that would inflict such suffering upon the children of creation. He assures me, without a word spoken between us, that suffering, however much the senses and emotions are affected, is to some degree a choice that is made. This is where being centred and living in a state of persistent mindfulness, being fully present in the Now, creates an open state of observance, with no labels, no ideas, no thoughts or theories to pin everything down with.
To be free from overwrought emotions, or far-flung notions that take us far and away from the destination; to be fully “in it”, is to experience every nuance of life and all it has to bring, without becoming married to outcomes and results, but to experience and observe in a state of flow. I resolve that I am simply one of many vehicles that is empowered with the ability to know and to see and to experience, but that ownership and overly clinging to the need to preserve a sense of “self” brings inherent challenges of ownership, or suffering as the Buddhists call it. When I plan, I hope; where I desire, I often go without; where I grasp and seek, it is difficult to quiet the mind. Siddhartha reminds me that where there is suffering, there is also joy, and where there is sustained joy, there is bliss. Mindful non-attachment informs the dance of life, without the over-arching need for theories, ideas and plans that serve to complicate that which by its very nature is the opposite of complicated.
Is my body then formed through this miracle of life – an infusion of mind, body and spirit – of earth, essence and ether. The soul manifests within body, and consciousness takes root in the mind that blossoms there. For now it will remain mysterious and unknowable.
But is not the body an instrument of joy? I ask. And if so, should we not desire and seek to experience joy? And are not the things I covet which bring me joy, are they not dependable? Can I count on a steady stream of joy from that which I continually seek? I look upon the Buddha Siddhartha and try to glean a little more of his light.
At first I think, yes, I am validated in my hope and intention. I am indeed here with my five senses through which I learn to experience and relate to the world. I experience pleasure and suffering. Pleasure seems the path of least resistance, and is the obvious choice, given the liberty to choose. But in fact, my desire to seek that which is pleasurable, according to opportunity, cultural conditioning, education, sexual proclivities, is the very thing that obscures my true perception and my ability to receive knowledge that is rooted in wisdom and rooted in solid ground (the ‘basis’ or primordial state of consciousness; the original purity, free from obscurations); this ground that first must be prepared with practice, discipline and dedication; In order to achieve enlightenment one must first become a blank slate. Ultimately, Buddhahood is not something to be gained or achieved, but is rather an act of recognizing what is already present in all sentient beings. The challenge is clearing away all of the incorrect views, notions, beliefs and habitual thinking that get in our way. Once our individual ground is purified and prepared, the seed of enlightenment can spring and take root, the roots can propagate and thrive, and hence matter is created seemingly from nothing: that a tree 200 feet tall is the product of a seed no bigger than a marble, Enlightenment from lesser forms of consciousness notwithstanding.
Is the tree under which Siddhartha sits akin to the material body that is created from the essence of earth – through the minerals, matter and biochemical process, coupled with geo-magnetic forces that dance around and infuse the planet in various ways? Is my body then formed through this miracle of life – an infusion of mind, body and spirit – of earth, essence and ether. The soul manifests within body, and consciousness takes root in the mind that blossoms there. For now it will remain mysterious and unknowable.
I look again upon the silent, statue-like Buddha Siddhartha, and wonder, did the fig blossom remind him of the chrysalis as it emerges from the cocoon? Was the flower springing from the tree branch akin to the springing of consciousness from a physical body – a marriage of cause and condition? Did he not wonder, when he watched the flower fall from the tree and slowly shrivel and dissolve back into the earth. Did he consider the bugs and small animals who came to nibble on the fallen leaves, from which they received sustenance – mineral and nourishment – to continue on in their own grand adventures? Thus the leaf reveals itself in the final stage of life, as provision for further life, that others may benefit; these who are “other” by label, according to my need to put a name to things, but in which the self-same consciousness runs through and through. We we different only in name and form; thus we are identical by nature. Did Siddhartha observe the leaf as it dissolved and was carried back into the soil by virtue of the rain falling from clouds? And consider the rain, which began in lakes and rivers, but which now is “cloud” and it too , like the leaf, returning to earth from its lofty accordance, to propagate the ever unfolding blossom of life here on Earth. Indeed, much had occurred in the ancient mists of time, to create the perfect conditions for the blossoming of the Buddha Siddhartha beneath the Bodhi Tree.
The scene shifts before me and I am now observing a stream of silvery, crystalline water flowing from where the Buddha Siddhartha sits. The stream runs to a stone shelf where the water has worn through the rock and created a series of odd looking “fingers” lining the edge where the water flows over and disappears. At once I find myself standing beneath the stone ledge, gazing up at the water falling over me from above, and which emanated from the Buddha himself. It was here with the cool life-giving water that my thoughts ceased and my mind grew quiet.
