The Dissolving

In one of his question-answer sessions, Mooji explains that the reason consciousness chooses to come into the play of form is because it loves experiencing: it loves the variety, the contrast, the tastes. It is totally in love with it. But it forgets itself to do this, and eventually this forgetting turns into suffering.

What he speaks is clearly demonstrated in the the way children, animals and nature seem to dwell. They lack a ‘developed’ mind, but they are infinitely more advanced in their ability to absorb and enjoy life. This is because of the absence of thoughts, which we adults value so highly as a means of success and survival. Yes, maybe the mind is a helpful tool that allows us to do more than animals and children, but has it really made us happier? I think you’ll say no. Why does it have to develop then? Well, the short answer is, it is a necessary but painful stepping stone in the growth of consciousness. It is the mind that enables us to question Who We Are and the Meaning of Life, in order to search for Truth. It does this through a process of what the ancient Indian texts call ‘neti neti’ (I am not this, nor that). I say Indian, not Hindu, because Hindu now has religious implications, and the Yogis that wrote the old texts would probably not have wanted to brand themselves has having a religious identity. Their truth, after all, is the deconstruction of identity.

As children and animals enjoy the experiences of ‘No-Mind’, they do so unconsciously, not knowing that what they are enjoying is the truth of themselves reflected in many forms. Once their minds and hence, egoic ideas, develop, they think of themselves through their analytical faculties and can no longer enjoy pure experiencing. This is a push from consciousness to create misidenfication and unrest in order to investigate Reality (through the faculty of mind), and make the mind a servant to self-knowledge.

The mind begins its seeking and and goes through many identities before it eventually realises that ultimate truth is not ‘out there’. Once it turns inward, its conceptual identities fall away and it eventually is able to come back to pure experiencing, like the child or the animal. Suffering may also start losing its mental sting, as pain is no longer burdened with the concepts that make it unbearable. Pain and pleasure become passing phenomena. The deeply embedded fear of annihilation may begin to erode. We may feel like kids again. But there is an added seeing because this experiencing is now coming from knowledge rather than ignorance. We know God’s grace rather than innocently sleeping in it.

The being that enquires within through the thinking mind is able to dissolve into Ultimate Reality. The thinking mind is a useful tool but once it has done its job, it is not needed for consciousness to know itself. The mind and its patterns (karma, genetics, whatever you want to call them), eventually dissolve into all-pervading Reality. A step into this dissolving is to become the witness of experience, rather than the one identified with a role (ego). The witnessing consciousness is a step inwards. But there is further to go. Everything has to be given up from the mind. Even the desire to use thoughts to get certain outcomes (which can work depending on the patterns of the ‘person’). In the ultimate reality, the feeling of personhood is gone.

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Excerpt from my story, Maya

Maya, the seemingly physical force of nature that is borne out of nothingness, wove her spell under a starry night. A girl of inexplicable beauty was born in the shambles of an Indian village hospital. Wide open eyes and hypnotic features spoke of wonder, but as she was a female child, her entire family was gravely disappointed by her. After a moment of awe and inspiration, her mother turned her head down in shame. Her father heard the news and felt assured of his wife’s poor reproductive abilities. He sighed and went on with his work, as there was no need to rush to his wife’s side.

They belonged to a class of people who relied on sons for their lineage and their work. They were farmers. A daughter gave them no continuity, no dowry, nothing but burdens. A daughter needed to be married off.

The mother, Kajal, came home quietly with her child, to the small house where she lived with her in-laws and their two sons. They had daughters in other houses, which they had been married into by paying a dowry so that the women could work as servants, cooking and cleaning, without wages and without the simple freedom to go out, work, study or do anything that required showing themselves to the world. One daughter’s husband gave her money and the freedom to run the household, so she was content in her role. The other daughter, however, had no say in finances and neither did she have authority in the home: her in-laws dictated everything from what needed to be cooked, to what clothes her children should wear. She could stand up to them, but she was sure that if she did, she would be thrown out of the house, bringing shame on her family.

So when Kajal came into the house with her first-born, a girl-child, she was afraid and disappointed for her child and for herself. “Nevermind,” said her mother-in-law, who clearly did mind. “Let me see the baby”. Kajal handed over the bundle, and her grandmother looked at the creature with curiosity. “Oh she is beautiful,” said the old woman. “She would be easy to marry off in a good family.” Kajal nodded and took the baby into her room to be fed. Since no-one was interested in the child, she took the authority in naming her baby. She called her ‘Maya’, the Hindu name for illusion, which is often used to describe something beautiful but inherently unreal.