The dream of the self
This is a story about waking up from the dream of the self. It’s my story.
For a while now I’ve been having little insights into non-self, or anatta.
For example, I’d be driving along the road, working on being mindful and rooted in sensory experience (rather than drifting off into daydreaming) and I’d notice, in my peripheral awareness, how my hands were jiggling from side to side to move the steering wheel. And I’d realize that my conscious mind was completely uninvolved with these movements. It was as if someone else was in charge of my hands and in charge of keeping the car in its lane. And I’d think — “That’s interesting. Who’s driving? Doesn’t seem like it’s me.”
I’d have similar experiences realizing that the breath is flowing in and out of the body without reference to my conscious mind. Who’s breathing?
Then I started having insights into non-self that involved my daughter, Maia. I wrote about these earlier on Wildmind and in a post called “Nothing’s Personal“:
…the most profound thing I’ve been learning is to accept the truth of impermanence and not-self (anatta) when I’m dealing with [my 2-year-old daughter]. I’ve been reflecting a lot on these topics as part of my researches for a book I’m working on. Sometimes, when she’s frustrated, my daughter will try to strike me or will do something like spit at me (honestly, she’s a very sweet kid — it’s just a phase she’s going through and it doesn’t happen a lot). When a baby does that kind of thing you just shrug it off — you don’t take it personally when a one-year-old clonks you on the head with a building block, because you reckon they’re just learning to coordinate their actions and aren’t aware that they’re really hurting the person they’re doing this to. But at a certain age you stop regarding your child as a bundle of joy and start seeing them as more of a person.
And this happened in my relationship with my daughter a couple of months ago. She’d hit me or spit in my face in anger, and I’d find I was taking it personally and I’d get angry. But then I started reflecting that she was really a stream of “causes and conditions.” Rather than seeing her as a “person” (which implies something rather static) I started thinking of her as an eternally-unfolding stream of causes and conditions. She doesn’t know why she acts in certain ways. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing all the time. She’s experiencing new emotions (imagine that!) and having to learn to deal with them. And so she’s just going through phases of development as she tries to make sense of the world around her and of herself. Oddly, I found that I could face her tantrums not just with equanimity, but with love and compassion, when I let go of the assumption that she was a “person” and saw her more as a stream of causes and conditions.
It’s funny, isn’t it? It sounds dehumanizing to regard someone as not being a person. But actually it’s the opposite. When I see her as a “person” I start immediately thinking (even unconsciously, I think) in terms of her having a fixed nature that I have to mold into the shape I want. And that brings about judgements, because molding a living being isn’t easy. There’s “resistance,” and “uncooperativeness” and “bad behavior.” And it’s hard not to be angry when you’re faced with those things (even if they’re just judgements your own mind has imposed on reality).
But when I see my daughter as a stream of causes and conditions, I see her as an evolving being, and instantly I feel compassion for her, because I see her as a struggling and growing being. And my heart opens to her, because deep down we’re all struggling and growing beings. And perhaps somehow my heart knows that the best conditions in which to be a struggling and growing being are love and compassion from other struggling and growing beings.
Then I had an interview with Tami Simon of Sounds True, for her podcast series, “Insights at the Edge.” Unfortunately I’d been awake since 3AM on the day of the interview because my daughter and wife were sick, and so I was struggling to be clear during the interview. To make things worse, Tami said she was feeling stressed, and I think that’s perhaps why her questions moved pretty quickly into stuff that wasn’t so much connected with my day-to-day practice (which is largely to do with parenting, teaching in prison, and writing.). Instead she pursued a line of questioning that was to do with the nature of the self. They were good questions, and it was a natural line of questioning, perhaps, because I’m writing a book about the Six Element reflection, which is a deconstruction of the notion of the self. You’d expect that I’d know a thing or two about the self but to be honest I’m half-way through the book and it’s a bit like I’m half-way through a parachute jump from 10,000 feet and therefore not the best person to ask about how you land when you’ve dropped from that height. I’m still falling. I haven’t yet reached the end of the deconstruction. My investigations are all very much work in progress. And as I said I’ve been having some insights into non-self, making that another reason why it’s natural for Tami to pursue that line of questioning. But being tired I wasn’t able to articulate those very clearly, and all that too was very much work in progress. So I didn’t think the interview had gone at all well. In fact I thought it was pretty crappy due to my tiredness and the fact that I couldn’t rise to the level of Tami’s questions..
So the day after the interview I was walking down the road to pick my car up from the garage, when I had an attack of shame and embarrassment. I felt embarrassed that the interview hadn’t gone very well and that it was going to be broadcast to thousands of people. I cringed inwardly. Then it occurred to me, “Why am I identifying with a bad interview? It’s as if I’m seeing myself as being bad because the interview was bad. It’s as if I’m seeing myself as incoherent because people listening to the podcast might think I was incoherent.” And as soon as I realized that I’d been identifying with my performance the embarrassment vanished. And it never came back. Not even a little bit, except once, mildly, and just for a few seconds. I can think of it now with complete equanimity. I realize “Nothing’s personal.”
Then, the next night, I was putting Maia to bed. I was lying beside her on her big girl bed, having just read her a couple of books and having told her the story of the Three Little Pigs. She’d just rolled over and was about to drift off to sleep. I can’t remember what my thought process was — probably I’d been remembering those experiences of seeing her as lacking a self and feeling a tender and overwhelming love for her — but suddenly I realized that I don’t have a self. It was a liberating realization. It was as if the idea of a self was a burden that I’d just laid down. It was as if I’d just got the punchline of a joke that someone had told me years ago and that I’d long since stopped believing I’d ever get. It was like waking up from a mildly distressing dream and feeling a sense of relief to realize that it wasn’t reality..
I kept looking at my mind, over and over, and realized that I definitely did not have a self. There were mental events streaming through the mind, but no self. There were vortexes of perception, thought, and feeling forming and dissipating. That’s all I’ve seen ever since then.
Since then I’ve kept looking, and still haven’t found a trace of a self. I do see greed, hatred, and delusion (the three poisons) but they don’t constitute a self, even though I previously thought of them as being “the ego.” They’re also in much milder forms than before. It’s still possible to have egoic functioning and not to have a self, I’ve found.
In a way I can’t understand why I didn’t recognize before that I didn’t have a self. It seems obvious now. There was one morning when, for about two minutes while I was half-awake, I wondered briefly whether I might in fact have a self, but a little observation revealed that there wasn’t a self present.
I’ve been very happy since realizing that I don’t have a self. My wife says that I see to be in a “light” mood even when sleep-deprived. I’ve finally realized something that I’ve known intellectually for a long time, but that understanding has moved onto a direct and experiential level. I’ve lost my belief in the self. Before, my intellectual understandings of this were an argument against my own deeper beliefs that I did in fact have a self. Those beliefs have gone. When I look at my mind I see only emptiness. Not a vacuity, but a formless flow of experience, with nothing standing still. I realize that every few moments what constitutes “me” has changed. There’s no core. There’s nothing static. There’s “no there there.”
Interestingly, I just had a call from Sounds True. Tami thought that her questioning had gone off in the wrong direction (and she probably thought that my answers were inadequate as well, although I’m sure she’d been too tactful to point that out). But the ironic thing is that if she hadn’t asked me those questions about the nature of the self I wouldn’t have been embarrassed and the chain of events that led me to realizing that I don’t have a self might not have taken place. So even though we’re doing the interview again, I’d be happy to go over the same ground, as long as I’ve had more than four hours sleep so that I can string some coherent thoughts together.
So here I am, working out where to go with my practice now that I’ve had a direct (and ongoing) experience of non-self, and looking forward to the rescheduled interview, and thinking that I can now say something about landing after a 10,000 foot parachute jump, or its spiritual equivalent.
7 Responses to “The dream of the self”
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You’re currently reading “The dream of the self,” an entry on Bodhipaksa's blog, bodhi tree swaying
Published: Aug 17 2009
Wow. Im a 17 year old attempting to understand and practise Buddhism as best i can, and for me, at the moment, the best way i’ve found to help me grasp certain concepts and points has been through reading.
I came across this article through a website by the name of ‘Wildmind Meditation’, and i can honestly say it has been a massive eye opener.
I am a musician, and like any musician, i enjoy performing, however, should anything go wrong during a performance I would automatically relate the entire performance, and how i thought people would judge it. Now having read your the part about the interview you did for the podcast has been a serious eye opener, and i feel a new sense of release.
Also, you’ve got me contemplating the self, which is something i haven’t spent too much time on, until now.
So thanks very much for this much appreciated insight and revelation.
Namaste, and peace be with you,
John
Hi John,
It’s funny to think I’ve been practicing for longer than you’ve been alive! I don’t think I’m a particularly swift mover, so I hope you surpass my slender achievements long before you’re my age. It’s great that you’ve started exploring the Dharma so young — all I can suggest is that you keep on practicing, even when it seems like you’re not getting anywhere.
All the best,
Bodhipaksa
I find the notion of non-self the most interesting aspect of Buddhism. Look forward to your future thoughts on the subject.
Enjoy following you on Twitter.
Mark
No self is like breaking open a crusty bread roll.
I find it more like watching water flow in a stream.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful insight and the explanation of no-self (my interpretation is that there is no constant mind that produces or experiences thoughts, etc. There is only the stream of thoughts etc themselves). It would appear that your six-element practice was of some assistance in this deep realisation? Will look to start practising this myself.
Look forward to reading the book also (with its references to loop quantum gravity!)
Hi Michael,
I keep checking in and keep finding I have no sense of having a self. At most I have a sense of a succession of selves, each lasting just a few seconds. I’m sure that all the reflection on the six element practice played a large part in the breaking of the fetter of self-view, although other factors were important too — especially the challenges of family life and of work. I can’t discount all the years of practice before this as well — it’s really impossible to point to any one thing and say that it was responsible.
All the best,
Bodhipaksa