A man goes to a spiritual teacher and is given a small statue of a form of God. He thinks the statue is pretty snazzy so he places it on the mantle in his living room. A few days later he notices how dusty the statue has gotten, so he cleans it off. While doing so, he notices that the entire mantle could use a good scrub. He cleans everything and is pleased with how well the shiny statue sits on the sparkling mantle.
A few more days go by, and he observes that compared to the cleanliness and simplicity of the mantle, the rest of the living room is quite the cluttered mess. So he cleans the living room and is pleased again. Then he sees that the living room is the only orderly room in the whole house. So he cleans the entire house, and again he is happy.
He’s finally got his house neat and tidy, but now he becomes aware that his body is unhealthy and his mind is a chaotic mix of conflicting drives and desires. The poor fellow, he can hardly live with himself! His self-image of being a “together” guy, capable and cool, has given way to the recognition that his life was never under control. It’s one thing to give the house a good spring cleaning, that only takes an afternoon; it’s another to face up to the mountain of selfishness that lies buried beneath the superficial personality.
He goes back to the spiritual teacher and complains, “That statue you gave me must be cursed! My house may have been a bit messy, but my life was going fine. Since I got involved with you my life has gotten worse, not better. I’m ready to quit!”
The teacher gentled chuckled, as he had heard this many times before, beginning when he said the same thing to his teacher. “My brother,” he replied, “The turmoils you are facing are simply the initial results of bringing the fire of truth into your life. If you were not experiencing this upset, it would indicate that you are not sincerely applying yourself. When heat is placed under a pot of butter, the impurities rise to the top. Once the impurities are skimmed, what remains is pure. If you continue with your practices you will be able to skim the impurities of your ego and what will remain is your pure, golden consciousness.”
When I started the Green Mountain School of Yoga in 1991, Baba Hari Dass gave me some instructions about teaching and what to expect from others. He said, “Many people will come, but if one in 100 sticks with yoga practice, that is very good.” That teaching has been very helpful to me because sometimes I could hardly believe that such promising students would, quite suddenly, drop yoga practice. I have had people tell me how grateful they were to have finally discovered yoga and they could hardly wait to participate in the next event of the Green Mountain School of Yoga. Then, I’d never see them again. I have since come to understand this as a reaction to the upsets produced by sincere yoga practice.
All of us carry a mental self-image of who we think we are. We live our lives developing the image and defending it against what we feel threatens it. We’re all idol worshippers, creating an image of ourselves and then adoring it. Our unhappiness arises when the world — in the form of sickness, disappointment, death, etc. — shatters the image we have of ourselves being a certain way. And since life is impermanent, no sooner do we get an image established then something comes along and destroys it. We generally respond to this destruction by quickly creating yet another image.
In yoga practice, an aspirant looks at his own mind objectively and watches it perform the function of image-making. He sees how the mind establishes an identity for itself, and how it constantly seeks to support and defend this image. Because the yogi can detach himself from the mind and view its operation objectively, he is able to extricate himself from its web.
At the final stage of this process, the aspirant will become aware that he is one with all beings. Before the aspirant can realize he is one with the saints and higher beings, however, he must first acknowledge he is one with those he finds less attractive. Before he can realize his consciousness is the abode of wisdom, compassion, and joy, he must see it is also the abode of selfishness, destruction, and murder. Before an aspirant can realize God lives in him, he must admit the devil also has a home in his mind.
The path through this chasm of fire is undertaken with two supports, says the great Sri Patanjali in his Yoga Sutras. They are abhyasah and vairagyam, persistent practice, and dispassion. Persistent practice simply means doing one’s sadhana (spiritual practices) every day. Some mornings it is exciting to jump out of bed and race to the meditation cushion. Other mornings it takes an act of giant will to slip out of the warm covers and sit facing the selfish, defensive mind. But practice every day is essential. In fact, during difficult times great progress is being made.
Spiritual growth is like an airplane trip; it is only at the beginning and the end that one is aware he is traveling. During a long portion of the spiritual journey, one might feel that nothing is taking place. This is because the changes in consciousness are taking place on a level that is too subtle for one to observe about himself. But regular sadhana will bear its fruit. For yoga is like mathematics, said Sri Yogananda, if the practice is carried out faithfully and correctly it cannot fail to provide the desired result.
Dispassion, the second asset in the process of purification, means one does not become shaken by anything his consciousness contains. Dispassion is a two-edged sword. It means one should not become dismayed or guilty when he sees the depth of selfishness, violence, even perversity that lies within him. He is not to identify with these mental processes. Likewise, when he sees within him lies the greatest courage, wisdom, or luminosity, he is not to identify with these aspects of mind, either; he is simply to watch them come and go. Consciousness, really, is nothing personal.
To discuss dispassion is one thing, to experience it is another. Many yoga aspirants freak out when they begin to peer into their closet of consciousness and see the skeletons that hang there. To directly confront one’s selfish tendencies can, at times, be overwhelming. But the only way out is through. Repeatedly, the yogi must adopt the position of the witness, silently observing mental phenomena without becoming involved with them. Thoughts are like rides at a carnival, each one promising some great adventure, a thrill, or a chill. But the rides are for children, not for mature spiritual aspirants who seek to know the true nature of the carnival and who is its creator.
When the aspirant first begins to practice dispassion, he may be astonished at how persistent thoughts are. Though his intention to quiet his mind may be earnest, still the train of thoughts keeps blowing its whistle. The great Tibetan yogi Milarepa faced a similar dilemma.
Milarepa retired to a secluded spot in the Himalayas to complete his search for enlightenment. When he sat for meditation in his solitary cave, demons appeared out of the thin air to disrupt his efforts. Milarepa was strong, and he determined he would fight the demons until they left the cave. But no matter how fiercely he fought, the demons would not relinquish their habitation. Then Milarepa decided on a different strategy, he would ignore the demons. In spite of Milarepa’s iron will, though, the demons would not leave the cave. Milarepa realized that fighting was not successful, nor was ignoring the demons. Finally, in exasperation, Milarepa announced to the demons that he would no longer fight, nor would he pretend that they weren’t there. He did say, however, that no matter what they did, he would not cease his meditation practices. If they were that insistent, well, they would just all have to share the cave together. With that, the demons flew off.
Similarly, when distracting thoughts make their appearance during our meditations, it is futile to try to fight or ignore them. Both of these approaches only reinforce their presence. But if one is quietly determined, one can take note of the distractions, and then simply proceed with his practice. In this way, the temptation to pay attention to the distractions is overcome.
Through persistent practice and dispassion, the purification of consciousness takes place and one becomes a vessel for great energies. Wisdom arises in the mind and happiness abides in the heart. The way to enlightenment is through the fire of purification, which will likely sting a bit while the ego is being burned away. Remain confident, though, that the road to spiritual accomplishment is posted with a familiar sign: “Construction taking place: the inconvenience is temporary, the improvements are permanent.” When purification is complete, the living God will rest on the mantel of our heart.
