“Look around Jay.” I sweep my arms wide gesturing at the sprawling monastic campus around us. “How long have you been here?”

“On and off for 22 years.” He says, “Mostly on.”

“And how about Dora?”

“I don’t know, about 17.”

“And Josette?”

“Oh geez, I’m not sure. She was an old timer when I got here.”

“And how many people do you have that have been here for, say, 10 years or more?”

Jay rubs his forehead squinting into the distance past the meditation hall behind me.

“Don’t rightly know, but it has to be over fifty.” He offers.

“Then let me ask you this: where do you keep them?”

“Who?”

“The enlightented ones. The ones who made it?” I ask.

“Hell E, I don’t know that we have any.”

“So you’re saying that this place has been around for nearly fifty years, that it’s been solely dedicated to the so-called evolution of spirit, that during this time thousands of practitioners, many for decades at a time, have ardently practiced here, you’ve all been whole-hearted devotees of your guru, and despite all of this…you don’t have even one?”

Jay shrugs.

“All I can say is I wouldn’t recommend putting that on your brochure.”

Jay chuckles. “Amen to that, brother.”

As Jed McKenna, an insightful teacher of enlightenment techniques is fond of pointing out, the question of past performance is an important yet oft neglected issue when it comes to things spiritual. It’s an inquiry that devout seekers are for some reason, loathe to ask. What’s your track record? Where are your success stories? How is this process working? All seem like fair enough questions—and questions that most of us wouldn’t hesitate to ask at all, if the circumstances were anything but spiritual. You wouldn’t take a golf lesson from a pro who couldn’t hit the ball, yet in the spiritual game people swarm to so-called teachers who don’t even know where the ball is.

I’m currently smack-dab in the middle of teaching a five-day retreat, and Jay has been assigned as my assistant. It’s a simple, though busy job that makes him responsible for a whole range of minor logistics from setting up classrooms to wrangling students. Jay and I share a military background—he’s a grizzled old Marine, ten years my senior—and that seems to make conversations easy and comfortable.

At the moment, we’re sitting at one of those one-piece picnic tables you find at your local park. Shadowed by a hundred year old oak tree, we’re perched atop a grassy knoll (not that grassy knoll) overlooking the yoga center. It’s a warm Technicolor spring day. Birds are chirping, bees are buzzing, and off in the distance a riding lawn mower goes round and round. The center is anchored by an ornate meditation hall standing across from a newly constructed two-story dormitory on the other side of the meadow. Residents and lay students crisscross the grassy courtyards. It’s a scene right out of the center spread of Yoga Quarterly.

“You know E,” Jay continues, “despite the lackluster track record on enlightenment, I have to admit that this practice has made me so much more calmer, focused, happy, and…”

“Enlightened?”

“Well, uh, no, not enlightened. But I’m closer.” He says with buoyed enthusiasm.

“Closer?” I lean in, “Tell me you didn’t say closer, Jay?”

“Yeah.” He answers meekly, intuiting the rhetorical lashing coming his way.

“So let me get this straight:” I begin, “as a result of all of this work, all of these spiritual practices, all this bowing, chanting, bending, and breathing, because of your faith, your humble service, your unwavering intention, because of all of this, you’re closer to your True Self? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He answers.

“Okay, my friend, so exactly how far away from your True Self were you when you began all of this?” I say in a tone equal parts pit-bull and Mike Wallace, “Would you say like a mile and a half, 1,700 yards, 24 inches?”

He rolls his eyes, recognizing his own misstep. “I get ya.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, but why don’t you lay it on the table anyway.”

“To start, there’s this: how could it be possible to in any way be separated from what you truly are?” I ask, “I mean, if you could be separated from it; how on earth could you be it? So to say that you’re closer to enlightenment, the discovery of your True Self, is like Clark Kent saying he’s closer to Superman.”

“I had a feeling that was coming as soon as I opened my mouth. But you know, Guruji says…”

Oh here it comes.

“…that when your practice is strong enough, when you have purified the vessel…”

“Jay,” I interrupt, “you know that’s horsefeathers as much as I do. Save that stuff for the recruits. Really, think about it: this whole endeavor is about realizing your True Self, that which you always have been…”

He nods.

“So tell me then, how long do you think it should take to go no distance, making no change, and to find that which you already are?” I shake my head, “I mean criminy Jay, isn’t anyone paying attention around here?”

Jay stares, the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Behind me, the moan of the lawn mower grows. As the noise becomes overwhelming, I begin to think it may be time for a change of venue. And in that moment, the mower comes to a silent stop. I look over my shoulder to see the maintenance man dismount his shiny green steed. He reaches behind the seat of the mower, pulls out a lunch pail, and ambles toward us.

“Howdy boys, name’s Billy, mind if I join?”

I defer to Jay.

“The more the merrier is what I always say.” Jay looks over at Billy and motions to a place on the bench.

I’ve seen Billy around the grounds, but my interaction with him has never gone deeper that a ‘howdy’ or ‘mornin’. He seems to be a nice enough guy, his thick drawl and polite manners betray his southern roots. He places his lunchbox on the table and I have to smile to myself—it’s a (I kid you not) Dukes of Hazzard lunch pail. I almost tell him that I used to work with the woman who married the brother of Tom Wopat who played Luke Duke before I realize how incredibly lame that sounds. I let it go.

Billy opens his lunch and inside he has four perfectly arranged ruby red apples, separated by folded paper towels. I look at his lunch and then up at him.

He shrugs, “My old lady’s got me on this diet. Apple?”

“Why not?” I say.

“Sure.” Says Jay.

Billy hands each of us an apple, both of which are placed at the center of the table for later consumption.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Billy asks

“No, we’re just having a little good natured conversation here.”

Billy takes a bite out of his apple, “I got ‘cha. ‘Bout what?”

“Enlightenment, really.”

“Ah, I don’t know much about that. I’ll leave that to y’all.”

“You don’t study here?” Jay asks.

“Naw, just here for the seven dollars an hour.” He motions over to the lawn mower. He takes another bite of his apple and turns to look out over his handy work.

I turn back to my conversation with Jay.

“Listen Jay, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be harsh, but come on, this just doesn’t make sense. Does it?”

“To tell you the truth E, a lot of this doesn’t make sense; what part of this are you referring to?”

“The part where we have all of these sincere practitioners pedaling as fast as they can—and getting nowhere.”

“I wouldn’t say nowhere,” Jay shakes his head, “I mean, I’ve seen a tremendous amount of positive transformation happen here—and for thousands of people over the years.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I say, “I don’t mean to imply that they’re getting nowhere, it’s just that they aren’t getting what they’ve been promised. The core issue is being ignored.”

“How so?”

“Look at it this way: have you ever been on a diet?” I ask.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Gone to a weight loss center?”

Jay smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, my ex-wife talked me into going to Jenny Craig years ago.”

I look him up and down. It’s hard to imagine this well-weathered, barrel-chested ex-Marine with muscled forearms the size of my neck in a Jenny Craig clinic. I can imagine him sweating it out in a gym, but…

“Jenny Craig?” I smile.

Billy almost chokes on his apple. I grin.

“I know…” Jay concedes, “it was just as funny then…”

We all have a chuckle at his expense.

“So at Jenny Craig, did you lose weight?” I ask.

“Some.”

“How long would you have stayed with it if you didn’t?”

“Huh?”

“Imagine you didn’t lose any weight, not a pound.” I say, “How long would you have continued to pay your monthly dues, eat your tidy prepackaged meals, go to your weekly meetings?”

“Well, if I didn’t see any improvement, I suppose not too long.”

“But what if they told you that your intention wasn’t strong enough or that you just weren’t yet ready?”

“I suppose might try harder…”

“But what if they assured you that once you achieved this readiness, the weight would come off—though you have to understand that weight loss can take time, sometimes even hundreds of lifetimes.”

“Ha! That’s a good one!” Billy joins the conversation.

Jay laughs, “I’d say hogwash!”

“And that hogwash sounds a little like some of the hogwash that’s served up around this place, don’t you think?” I add.

That one landed.

“Yeah,” he nods, “if I’m to be completely honest, there are some similarities there.”

Think critically. Believe nothing. Ask hard questions: three prerequisites for skilled practice, and the very things that most spiritual aspirants don’t do. To make matters worse, they’re three things that seekers are often taught not to do. Be a faithful follower, toe the line, serve humbly, stay quiet, and make donations. Thou shalt make no waves. These are the commandments spewn by legions spiritual grifters more concerned with themselves then their adoring devotees.

“Look Jay, it’s not that what’s happening here is bad, or that there’s any accusation of intentional misrepresentation being made.” I say, “You know as well as I do, the so-called masters around this place are as confused as anyone. Naivety rather than malice is fueling this whole thing.”

I continue. “There’s no argument about the center doing some really great things for many, many people—I personally know hundreds who have been helped to live happier, healthier lives from the center’s programs.”

“So what’s the problem then?” Jay asks.

“The problem is that happier and healthier are not what this place promises. This place touts self-realization, but offers self-help in its stead.”

Billy jumps in. “Bait and switch, that’s what we call that back home…” The slow-paced baritone color of his voice underscores the point.

“It’s a classic bait and switch.” I say. “But as I said before, an innocent one. Can you imagine going to Jenny Craig for ten years and not losing a single pound?” I ask, “And when you challenge them about your complete lack of weight loss they tell you to think of all the great people you met through the program?”

Jay nods.

“I mean, new friends are an undeniable benefit, but that’s not what you signed up for.”

“I get it.” Billy jumps back in. “Jenny Craig is about losing weight; this here monastery is about, what do you folks call it? Spiritual liberation?”

I nod.

“That there is the core issue E’s talkin’ about.”

Jay and I look and one another. “Are you sure you don’t study here?” I ask.

Billy continues to chew his apple and turns back to again look out over the meadow. “Nope, just the grass.” Then after a pause, “I got ears though.”

I didn’t expect to be saying this, but “Billy’s exactly right. In fact, that’s what Guruji’s entire talk was about last night.”

“I see the problem E, really I do. And I’m not the only one. But to tell you the truth I’m not at all sure what to do about it.”

“Seeing a problem is one thing; understanding what causes it is another” I say, “Any ideas?

Jay looks to Billy.

“You’re on your own with this one, partner.” says Billy.

From where I’m standing, the problem is clear. It’s the same swampy mire that practitioners have been stumbling into for millennia. And a staggering level of misinformation is the culprit.

With weight loss it’s simple: get on the scale, do some simple math, and progress—or lack thereof—is undeniable. With enlightenment and all things spiritual, it’s a bit more complicated. There are enough cockamamie ideas about enlightenment floating around in the world to quite literally keep you chasing your tail for years. No wonder they say it can take lifetimes.

Given my flair for the dramatic, I put it this way: “It comes down to this: yoga doesn’t work.”

A look of utter astonishment descends over Jay; and who could blame him, here I sit a long-haired, bearded, yoga teacher, wearing white even, telling them that the thing that we’ve both dedicated our lives to doesn’t work.

“At least, not in the way that it’s conventionally understood and practiced.” I add, giving myself enough wiggle room to eventually clarify my hyperbole.

Silence. I take the time to lean back on the table and take in the verdant spring day. I can feel the wheels a-turning in my friend’s head. Billy remains unfazed, looking out over the countryside. After a few moments of this, Jay speaks.

“It doesn’t?” he sounds worried, “Yoga doesn’t work? What makes you say that?”

“Well, first of all there’s the small matter of the overwhelming evidence.” I say.

“Evidence?”

“Yeah, we have over 20 million ardent yoga practitioners in this country, a yoga studio on every corner, yoga teachers being churned out by the bushel, and yet nobody is waking up? Heck, right here in this monastery a solid population of folks have zealously devoted their lives to this practice and to experiencing their true nature and nevertheless, delusion continues to trounce enlightenment.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jay asks.

“I was just going to ask you.” I say.

“I don’t rightly know that it’s my place to say…”

“Of course it’s yours to say,” I interrupt, “Hell Jay, you’re one of them; so I’d say you’re as qualified as anyone on the planet.”

Jay eyes his apple lying at the center of the table. He picks it up and rubs it on the front of his shirt before taking a bite. Crunch. He continues to bite and chew and bite and chew while pondering his answer.

“I have my ideas,” he begins, “but I’m not sure they’re what you’ve got in mind.”

“Lay ‘em on me.”

“Well I’m thinking it has something to do with sincerity of effort.”

“I’m not sure I’d get all the way on board with that one.” I say, “Most of the folks I’ve come across are pretty sincere.”

“But misguided.” Billy interjects, still gazing off into the distance with his finger now raised in the air as if to punctuate his point.

Jay looks at him, “What are you, Yoda?”

“Just mow the lawns.” He says, still attending to the scenery.

“Actually, that feels closer to me.” I say. “In more cases than not, people seem to be hobbled by their own misunderstanding. Take for example the popularly accepted goal of yoga.”

“Union of body, mind, and spirit?” says Jay.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“Well for one thing,” I say. “I’m not sure that idea even has any practical value. I mean, is it your experience that your spirit is off playing the back nine somewhere whilst you’re here chatting with me?”

“Not really, but what about uniting all the disparate parts of ourselves; uniting our body, breath, and all of the competing voices in our heads helping us to move toward stillness and ease.” Jay says with confidence.

Right out of the yoga teachers’ playbook, I think.

“Or even the ultimate union between your small self and God.” Billy adds, with nonchalance.

Jay looks at him again, “Who are you?”

Billy doesn’t react.

“All accepted views,” I say, “but here’s the key question: what is the need for this union built on?”

“I’m not sure I follow.” Jay scratches his head.

“There’s a presupposition here.”

“A what?”

“An assumption is being made that something needs to be fixed, mended, or changed.” Jay’s blank stare morphs into a confused look.

I decide to take another tack. “Let me ask you this? What would you think if I launched a world-wide campaign to get the tooth fairy to stop wearing white after Labor Day?”

“I’d think you were off yer dag’gum rocker.” Billy says.

“Good…and why?” I turn to include him in the conversation.

For the first time he looks directly at us as he speaks, “Because everybody knows the tooth fairy only wears pink, dummy.”

And with that a wide grin erupts on his face, breaking from his mysterious character.

“Clever.” I nod with a smile. “But seriously, how much success would you think my campaign would have in getting the tooth fairy to change her wardrobe?”

“It’s a ridiculous effort.” says Billy.

“Why?”

“Well hell, because the tooth fairy doesn’t exist.” he says.

“Because the tooth fairy doesn’t exist.” I echo a bit more slowly.

“You’ve lost me.” Jay says.

I glance down on the apple Billy gifted me. I pick it up and take a bite; it proves every bit as crisp and juicy as I had hoped for. I take another bite and with a partial mouthful of apple (sorry Mom) start in on my answer:

“You’re saying that my quest to get the tooth fairy to change her wardrobe is futile because the tooth fairy doesn’t exist. I’m saying that your quest to unite body, mind, and spirit; or the small self with the true self; is futile because …”

“Because union doesn’t exist?” Jay asks.

“Almost.”

“Because separation doesn’t exist!” Billy slams his hand down on the picnic table with another big toothy grin.

“Winner!” I say.

“This shit’s fun!” Billy exclaims, in his full-on southern twang, “You boys outta invite me more often!”

Jay smiles and shakes his head. Just as quickly as it appeared though, the smile evaporates from Jay’s face.

“Wait a minute.” he says, “What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re trying to solve a problem that doesn’t really exist, friend-o.” Billy says.

Jay turns to me, “Are you saying that we should all just pack up and go home then?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all.” I shake my head, “But what I am recommending is that we become clear on what the game really is here.”

I take another bite out of my apple.

And it’s here that we’re beginning to touch on the real issue. It’s not really that yoga doesn’t work. That’s just a bit of bravado to get people’s attention. It’s that when yoga is understood from the perspective of separative delusional consciousness, then it doesn’t work.

“When you view oneness from the point of view of separation, oneness is not oneness at all.” I say, “It’s just another separative idea used to separate the idea of oneness apart from the idea of separateness.”

“But everyone doesn’t necessarily fall into that trap.” Jay offers,

“Which trap?” I ask to clarify, mouth again full with apple.

“The trap of believing in separation,” he says, “I mean, I believe in oneness.”

Oh yes, the strategic opening I had been waiting for, though I’ll admit not consciously. But I recognize a tactical opportunity when I see one and I jump on it.

“Ah-ha!” I point at Jay with what’s left of my apple.

“Ah-ha, what?”

“Ah-ha, that’s precisely the trap I’m talking about; you can’t get there from here.”

“What do you mean?” he protests, “I don’t have any belief in the permanency of separateness.”

“You don’t?” I ask, now baiting him along.

He shakes his head.

Unexamined beliefs are the scurvy of the spiritual world—and the belief in one’s own separate individual existence is the grand-daddy of them all. According to yogic understanding it’s the second link in a chain the binds us to suffering.

“Fair enough,” I look to Jay, “You don’t believe in separateness, so tell me then, what is this ‘you’ of which you speak, young Jedi?”

“What do you mean what is this me? It’s me? It’s who I am?”

“And how does that relate to…” I look around the table, “let’s say…this apple core?” I hold up the freshly chomped though already browning leavings of my apple.

“I don’t get it.” Jay shakes his head.

“Is this who you really, really are?” I ask, pushing the apple even closer to his face.

“Of course not.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m me, the eternal, divine consciousness, and all of that.” he says with exasperation, “You know.”

“But not this?” I point to the core. I bend down next to the picnic bench and pick up a piece of dried dog poop with a leaf. “How about this?” I hold the poop up for display.

Jay scrunches his nose. “No man, definitely not that.”

Billy is smiling ear to ear.

I look over at him, “You see, don’t you?” I ask.

He nods. “’Course I do.”

I place the apple core back on the table. “Your honor, the defense rests.”

Jay appears flummoxed. He tentatively shifts his gaze between Billy and me. I can see he’s trying hard to make sense of what’s just happened.

“Let me make it a bit more plain.” I say, “You want to see the truth of oneness but aren’t willing to let go of your belief in separateness.” I shrug, “So you’re screwed.”

“But that’s my point E, I don’t have a belief in separateness.”

“Uh-huh.” Billy says quietly, now with a long blade of grass hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Jay turns to him “What?!” and then to me thumbing over his shoulder at Billy, “Are you sure you didn’t hire him?”

I give Billy the nod. “Tell him.”

He speaks up: “You say you have no belief in separateness, yet you swear you’re not that dog doodie there.” He takes the blade of grass from his mouth and points it at the canine excretion still in my hand.

Jay shrugs.

“That, my friend, is a belief in separateness.” Billy confirms. “If you maintain that you are you and that is that; I mean, I don’t have my calculator on me or nothin’, but that seems like two-ness, not oneness.”

Jay nods and slaps the table. “Well I’ll be dipped in…”

“Doggie-doodie?” Billy adds.

I look at Jay and it’s clear the light has gone on. He’s seen through his own self-deception, but I clarify nevertheless:

“The very notion of ‘I’ is separative. The whole purpose of the idea of I is to cleave I apart from everything else. The notion of an ‘I’ as distinct from a ‘you’; the belief that ‘I’ am here and ‘God’ is there; the idea that ‘I’ am not dog poop, or the space shuttle, or a murdering terrorist; these are all whole-hearted expressions of a belief in separation.

“To look at it in a slightly different light, the idea of union—union of body, mind, and spirit; union of small self with True self; or in fact the union of any-thing with any-thing else—presumes that separate things are and oneness is not.

“So long as you continue to insist on your existence as a separate individual operator, you’ll remain painted into an irreconcilable corner—at least as far as liberation is concerned.”

Jay is wallowing in the same muck that has plagued nearly all spiritual traditions through the ages. It’s a problem caused by building a house on a faulty foundation. The issue is this: we all have a tendency to begin with the erroneous premise that we exist as separate individuals. In other words, we view the problem of delusion from the perspective of delusion itself.

When you attempt to access the experience of oneness while simultaneously holding onto the idea that you are a separate individual ‘thing’, you effectively obstruct the truth of oneness from being realized. You simply can’t buy into the illusion of separation and expect to see the truth of oneness.

Jay shifts on the bench as he pulls an awkwardly folded piece of paper from his pocket. He carefully unfolds it and begins to read:

You try to make all the pieces fit, but what is missed is that there are no pieces at all. It is all One. The Oneness only appears as many because it has been cleaved into pieces by your effort and misunderstanding. Do not try to understand based upon your misapprehension of the truth. Merely abide in the simplicity prior to effort, and allow. The truth of Oneness—and the myth of your self—will be revealed.

“That’s it!” I exclaim, “Brilliantly put. Where’d you get that quote?” I’m the Imelda Marcos of transformative quotations; always on the prowl for more ammunition. I want to get that one on the books.

Jay smiles. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No.” I say, a bit confused.

Jay starts to laugh. “That’s you.”

“Huh?”

“You said that the day before yesterday.”

“I did?”

“Yes E, you did.” He says, “I was mastering the recordings last night and came across that quote and had to write it down. I didn’t know that I’d be quoting you to you though.”

“So much for mindfulness.” Billy chides.

I have to laugh, but to be honest I’m not all that surprised. Generally speaking, my teaching flows without too much help from me. As a result, I often don’t have a full recollection of precisely what I’ve said or haven’t said in any given session. I kind of get out of the way and it all happens.

“So?” Billy asks expectantly, “What does all this talk of separation and oneness have to do with why yoga doesn’t work?”

“As typically understood and practiced.” I add.

“Right.”

“It’s like this, when yoga is understood as the creation of union, it assumes the perspective of delusion (or separation) and in fact supports the delusional point of view as its very premise. The very practice of yoga then—as conventionally understood—posits a split, a split that doesn’t exist,” I say, “and thereby perpetuates the very delusion it seeks to extinguish.”

“In a way, the problem is built into the very process of yoga.” Jay says.

“I wouldn’t say the problem is built in; it’s more like when yoga is viewed from the perspective of delusion, the problem is created.” I say.

“So, what to do?” Jay says in his best Indian accent, head wagging and all.

“First is to recognize that yoga is about recognition, not reformation.” I say.

“Reformation?”

“Yes, reformation is about change. Yoga is not about changing how things are; it’s about recognizing how things really are.” I say.

“You mean recognizing the truth of oneness?”

“Yes. Oneness, freedom from conflict, perfection, liberation from the small self, enlightenment; there’s lots of ways to say it.” I say, “When we get sucked into the reformation game we use the practices of yoga to prepare the self, improve the self, calm the self, detoxify the self…”

“All of which reinforce the perception of separateness.” Billy adds.

“Because…”

“Because why would I work on ‘my’ self and not ‘Jay’s’ self if I wasn’t rooted in a separative perspective.”

“Ahhhh.” Escapes Jay’s lips before he really notices.

“Ahhhh?”

“Yes, ahhhh.” He nods, “So the problem isn’t yoga, it’s the misunderstanding with which yoga is being used.”

I nod.

“And by doggedly insisting on your own individuality,” he continues, “even your individuality as a spiritual seeker; you are investing in the illusion of separation. You’re buying stock in delusion.”

“And…”

“And from that so-called reality, you have no hope of accessing oneness, no matter what techniques you use. You thereby effectively put the core issue of enlightenment or the experience of oneness out of reach.”

“Brilliant!” I say, “Buy that Marine a drink.”

“But I’ve got one more question.” Jay turns to Billy, “how do you know so much about this stuff?”

“Like I said, I been mowing these lawns and trimming these trees for years. And I got ears.”

“I don’t’ get it. Why don’t you participate in any of the programs?” Jay asks.

“Well, I’m kind of a quiet guy; don’t much go in for all the pomp and circumstance y’all seem to be so fond of. Those kinds of formalities I left behind when I got out.”

Billy pulls back his shirt sleeve to reveal a Marine Corps tattoo not dissimilar to the one blazoned across Jay’s forearm.

“You’re a Marine.”

Billy nods. “I am, brother.”

“Well I’ll be…” Jay says.

“That calls for a toast.” I say, holding up the remnants of my apple. Jay and Billy hold their own apple cores aloft next to mine, not sure why we’re toasting with apples.

“To the core!” I say.

Both of the Marines roll their eyes and shake their heads.

“To the Corps.” they echo.

Copyright 2008, Eric Walrabenstein, all rights reserved.