What IS Truth? <- An insightful discussion and debate on what truth REALLY is ...

Below is the chapter from Jed Mckenna's book 'Spiritual Enlightenment,' titled, "I don't do heart." It discusses the concept of 'What is true?' and is quite fascinating! Bare with the first few paragraphs as it doesn't get straight to the point until the paragraph beginning with, "Okay Arthur ..." where the concepts about what is true start to appear.

Enjoy!

With Love & Gratitude,
--Sean Patrick Simpson
www.AdventuresInManifesting.org

p.s. The bold parts were parts that really stood out to me, not bolds in the actual book itself.
.................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. ............................

Book: Spiritual Enlightenment
By: Jed McKenna
Chapter 8: I don't do heart.

"The most useful piece of learning for the uses of life is to unlearn what is untrue." - Antisthenes

My monologues tend to be a little loose, but they could easily be a lot looser. It takes a conscious effort on my part to stay on track and not follow every tempting digression. I like to follow the course dictated by my initial impression of what a student needs to hear, and I usually end by putting the ball in their court. I can say it and they can nod and agree, but that doesn't do any good at all. If you want to benefit from knowledge, you have to own it for yourself and the only way to do that is to fight for it. Emerson said "No man thoroughly understands a truth until he has contended against it." Having the answer isn't enough. You have to do the math.

The chair Marla vacated does not stay empty for long. A fifty-something engineer named Arthur appears and waits for permission to sit down which I give with a slight gesture. That may seem overly formal, but for Arthur it's actually an improvement. The first time Arthur came to speak with me he sat in a half lotus at my feet, which made me a little buggy. After I coaxed him up into a chair we spent an hour disabusing him of his tendency to equate enlightenment with divinity. It's still hardwired into his thinking that the teacher must be regarded as an elevated being, so he never sits without permission and always speaks with formality. Arthur doesn't live in the house but he's a frequent visitor, especially in spring when the gardens need so much help.

Arthur tells me he wants a technique. Rather, he wants the technique. I really only have one technique and everybody who comes to the house soon learns what it is from other students, but, oddly, nobody seems to practice it until they receive it from me. I've laid it out many times and tried to put it in the public domain for the use of whoever wants it, but it has remained strangely proprietary, as if the only way it can work is if it comes directly from me. There's really not much to it, but I guess there's not much to closing your eyes and repeating a mantra or counting your breaths either.

"Okay, Arthur," I begin, "the technique is called Spiritual Autolysis. Autolysis means self-digestion, and spiritual means... hell, I don't really know. Let's say it means that level of self which encompasses the mental, physical and emotional aspects. Put the two words together and you have a process through which you feed yourself, one piece at a time, into the purifying digestive fires."

"May I ask a question?" Arthur asks.

"Yes, Arthur."

"You make Spiritual Autolysis sound rather unpleasant."

"Yes, Arthur, it's an unpleasant process."

"Oh. I see. Thank you."

"You're welcome. The process of Spiritual Autolysis is basically like a Zen koan on steroids. All you really have to do is write the truth."

"Write the truth?"

"Sounds simple, doesn't it? Yes, that's all there is to it. Just write down what you know is true, or what you think is true, and keep writing until you've come up with something that is true."

"There are three hundred and sixty degrees in a circle," says Arthur.

"Sure," I agree. "Start with something as seemingly indisputable as that, and then start examining the foundation upon which that statement is built and just keep following it down until you've reached bedrock, something solid --- true."

"There aren't three hundred and sixty degrees in a circle?" he asks.

"The question presupposes that there's a circle."

"There's not a circle?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Is there?"

"Well, if I draw a circle..."

"I? When did you confirm the existence of an I? Draw? Have you already raced past the part where you confirmed that you are a separate physical being is a physical universe with the ability to perceive, to draw? Have you already confirmed duality as truth?"

Arthur is thoughtful and silent for several moments. "I guess that's what you mean by following it down. This is very confusing. I don't even know where to start."

"It doesn't matter where you start. You could start by using Ramana Maharshi's query, "Who am I?' or 'What is me?', and then just work at it. Just try to say something true and keep at it until you do. Write and rewrite. Make it cleaner and cut out the excess and ego and follow it wherever it leads until you're done."

"And how long does that usually take?"

"I would think a couple of years. But when you're done, you're done."

"And by done, you mean...?"

"Done."

"Oh. Is this like journaling? Like keeping a diary?"


"Ah, good question. No. This isn't about personal awareness or self-exploration. Its not about feelings or insights. It's not about personal or spiritual evolution. This is about what you know for sure, about what you are sure you know is true, about what you are that is true. With this process you tear away layer after layer of untruth masquerading as truth. Anytime you go back to read something you wrote, even if it was only yesterday, you should be surprised by how far you've come since then. It's actually a painful and vicious process, somewhat akin to self-mutilation. it creates wounds that will never heal and burns bridges that can never be rebuilt and the only real reason to do it is because you can no longer stand not to."

He lets that sink in for a few moments. "What's the reason for writing it down? Why not just do it in your head like with koans?"

"That's another good question. Yes, koans and mantras are done in your head. Ramana Maharshi's 'Who am I?' query is done in your head. The reason for writing it down on paper or on a computer where you can see it is because the brain, unlikely as it may sound, is no place for serious thinking. Any time you have serious thinking to do, the first step is to get the whole shootin' match out of your head and set it up someplace where you can walk around it and see it from all sides. Attack, switch sides and counter-attack. You can't do that while it's still in your head. Writing it out allows you to act as your own teacher, your own critic, you own opponent. By externalizing your thoughts, you can become your own guru --- judging yourself, giving feedback, providing a more objective and elevated perspective."

Arthur is looking at me questioningly, so I continue.

"You're an engineer, right?"

"Yes."

"And you engineer what?"

"Bridges."

"In your head?"

Arthur pauses a moment to consider.

"yes and no," he says.

"Okay. You're saying yes because there's the process of conceptualization, right? The idea stage?"

"There is, yes."

"And other internal creative and problem-solving stages along the way?"

"Yes."

"And then what? What's after the initial conceptualization?"

"Well, then there are the meetings and preliminary drawings and more meetings and the project managers..."

"The creative process at work."

"Well, yes."

"So basically, it starts as an idea --- a thought in someone's head --- and ends up as a real bridge somewhere in the real world."

"Hmm, yes."

"And along the way it evolves, take shape, come into focus, right? It moves from idea to rough sketches to highly precise drawing and scale models to an actual bridge that will last a hundred years, something like that?"

"Something like that, yes."

"And that's the creative process -- thought to reality. It's always the same process whether it's a bridge, a poem, the space shuttle, or your life. Does that make sense?"

"Okay. Yes."

"You recognize that from you own life? Your own work?"

"Yes, I do."

"Could that all happen in someone's head? One person's head?"

Arthur laughs. "Certainly not."

"No. Thought, whether in the brain or out, is a creative tool, and Spiritual Autolysis is a creative process, just like any other. Just like building a bridge."

"But bridge builders are very educated men," Arthur points out. "It's both an art and a science and it can take a lifetime to fully develop. Creative endeavor is erected on a foundation of knowledge and experience."

"Absolutely," I reply, "and I can assure you that while you're in this process of self-digestion you're going to develop a voracious appetite for all sorts of knowledge -- religious, esoteric, metaphysical, spiritual, New Age, Eastern and Western philosophy, all that and more. You'll be relying on the knowledge and experience of men and women from throughout history without regard to race or nationality, but your search will take you far beyond human intelligence. Truth transcends time and boundaries, and so will your search for it. You'll definitely want a good library or used bookstore nearby."

"Does that make Spiritual Autolysis a path of intellect as opposed to a path of heart or a path of devotion or a path of service?"

Ugh.

"Frankly, you start losing me a little bit there, Arthur."

He gives me a perplexed look.

"I don't know what all these different paths are, Arthur. Spiritual Autolysis is an intellectual endeavor, but I balk at calling it a path of intellect. It's a process of discrimination, of unknowing what is untrue, of progressively stripping away the false and leaving only what is true. Discrimination is used in a machete-like manner for hacking one's way through the dense underbrush of delusion, or, if you prefer, in a swordlike manner for hacking off one's own delusion-riddled head. Intellect is used as the sword with which ego commits a slow and agonizing suicide -- the death of a thousand cuts. Whether that makes it this kind of path or that kind of path doesn't concern us here. That's something for a student of paths to worry about. If the question stays with you then it's something you can address for yourself in the process of Spiritual Autolysis."

I used to be pretty well versed in spiritual literature and I recall that there's a lot of talk about different paths, but from where I sit it's just another way of distracting yourself from the difficult work of breaking free. No theory of paths is of any practical value in waking up. The very idea that there is set path, much less a choice of paths, that one need merely follow is ruinously misleading. In short, this path business is just another case of the blind leading the blind -- part of the vast mythology created by caterpillars teaching caterpillars how to become butterflies.

Arthur interrupts my thoughts. "I read that Don Juan said ..."

"Who," I jump in, "hold up a sec. Is this going to be the path with heart thing?"

"Yes."

I am familiar with the Carlos Castenada book in which Don Juan advises Carlito to choose a path with heart. I am familiar with it for the same reason that so many spiritual seekers are familiar with it, because it has that ring of sagely goodness that makes it the one thing out of all of Castenada's writings that gets widely remembered. Does that make it true or valuable? Obviously not, just another cliche. Just another piece of pretty misdirection. I am well aware that a great many of the world's most popular spiritual doctrines advocate a heart centered approach to spiritual development, but popularity among the soundly asleep may not be the best criterion by which to judge a method for waking up.

"Let me state it plainly, Arthur: I don't do heart. To the extent that I advocate any path, it is a path without heart, devoid of compassion, totally free of any thought for others whatsoever. The thinking is simple: Wake up first. Wake up, and then you can double back and perhaps be of some use to others if you still have the urge. Wake up first, with pure and unapologetic selfishness, or you're just another shipwreck victim floundering in the ocean and all the compassion in the world is of absolutely no use to the other victims floundering around you. Resolve your own situation first, and then maybe your compassion will translate into something of value to others. I suppose that sounds cruel or unspiritual or whatever, but it only works the way it works. Make sense?"

Arthur nods thoughtfully.

"Hey, you've probably visited those foundries where they pour the molten steel that goes into those bridges of yours, right?"

"Certainly. Many times."

"Man, those places are scary looking. They make hell look like Aspen. You reckon there's a lot of different ways they could do that work and they chose the one with heart?"

Arthur chuckles. "Hardly."

"Of course not, because it works the way it works. This waking up thing isn't all sweetness and light. It's a serious business with a failure rate that's nearly absolute. Think about that. You're embarking on an undertaking that millions upon millions of sincere, intelligent men and women have committed their lives to without success. That's a pretty sobering statement. This is a process and it works the way it works or it doesn't work at all. You can't dictate terms. Preferences are irrelevant."

"It sounds like you're saying I may not even want to think of helping others once I myself am liberated."

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Depends on how you're wired, I suppose. You see what I do, this teaching thing, right?" He nods. "Maybe you'll do something like this. Maybe you'll teach. Or, maybe you'll go back to building bridges and just keep it to yourself."

"Hard to imagine," he says.

"It's impossible to imagine, but you're putting the cart before the horse. The simple fact is that you are of no use to anyone else if you're in the same situation they are."

"Jesus," he mutters. It's the most colorful language I've ever heard him use.

"Here's a thought," I continue. "When you're doing the writing, Spiritual Autolysis, do it for someone else. Write it for someone else. Express your knowledge for someone else's benefit. Write it for publication, as if the whole world will see it. Or write it as a series of letters to your son, or to an imaginary friend, or to the child you once were. Whatever. Use the process of Spiritual Autoysis as a means of expressing your own highest knowledge for someone else's benefit. And, of course, keep improving it until you've stated the truth."

"Which I'll never do?"

"What, state the truth? No, of course not."

.................................................. ..................

The house is rising out of quiet period now and over the course of fifteen minutes it is transformed from a silent meditation hall into a bustling restaurant and social club. I'm amazed to see that there are over thirty people here including a few I don't recall seeing before, and I wonder if some show up just for Sonaya's cooking. The Krishna Consciousness folks put a major emphasis on cuisine and I wouldn't be surprised if many of their members initially stopped in just to see what smelled so good. Sonaya is a master chef who would be welcomes with open arms by any Indian restaurant in the world. When she is cooking I regret that I have such a small appetite.

I think I should talk about myself a little more, not to demonstrate how remarkable I am, but how ordinary. Obviously, I haven't always been an enlightened guy. I was a cute baby, a happy kid, a problem teen and a wayward adult. No one looked at me back then and figured me for the future wisdom heart of a rural American ashram project. On the other hand, I have always possessed something of an insightful nature. I started struggling with cogito ergo sum in my early teens. Throughout my teens and into my twenties I wrote short stories and essays that were trial assaults on the nature of reality, which helped me bring my thinking into focus.

My thunderbolt epiphany came in my late twenties, around fifty pages into reading my first book of a distinctly spiritual nature. As all good epiphanies should, this one struck my brain like a bullet of light and redefined my entire life in a single instant. The realization was nothing more or less than this:

Truth exists.

I was absolutely stunned. The lines of my being were redrawn in a flash. I was staggered by this simple statement, by the sheer absurdity of it. After all, how can someone not realize that truth exists? But the truth is, I didn't. My thoughts were so constantly turned towards denying what wasn't that I was effectively blinded to what was. The very act of fighting for liberation had imprisoned me. In order to oppose the false, I had to dwell in the half-light where falseness thrives. Finally understanding that truth existed was the equivalent of crawling out of a putrid sewer and into sunlight --- sunlight the existence of which I should have suspected all along, but never quite did.

But now I was in the sunlight and it was totally mind-blowing. In that moment I was finally born. "Truth exists!" my mind was shrieking. "It doesn't matter what it is or where it is. Somewhere, somehow, there is truth. I don't care if it's in Christianity or Judaism or Islam or in the most despised cult in the deepest bowels of depravity, it exists and I will not spend another minute of my life flailing blindly around in the filth and miasma of ignorance for any other reason than to find it. The universe isn't vague and ignorant; I am vague and ignorant. Something is true and it doesn't matter what it is, I'm not going to be false anymore. I have not even the slightest trace of the slightest reservation about the fact that I would rather suffer and die figuring out what is true than continue this life as a slave to lies and ignorance."

.................................................. ..................................

I just reread those last few paragraphs and they come somewhat close to what my brain looked like after the explosion. Death/rebirth events come in all shapes and sizes, and this was my first. My First Step. This was the one that separates who I was from what I am now. That was the day I set fire to my life and went to war.

The next two years were spent in a state of burning obsession. I quit my job, dumped my belongings, and moved from Chicago to a small town in Iowa. I scoured bookstores and took full advantage of the local library's statewide lending program. I bought a computer and spent hours every day hunched over the keyboard trying to express the truth. I read and I wrote . I edited, discarded, and rewrote. Every few weeks I would delete all my files, reformat all my disks and burn --- literally, in a kettle barbecue -- all my notes and hand written pages. I almost never read anything I wrote because the mere act of writing it rendered it obsolete in my thinking. I severed all ties -- no job, no friends, no family -- and had only a few possessions. I did nothing else. I had no other thought. I went for long walks, thinking, pounding away at whichever door I was stuck behind at the moment

And then one day after a couple of years of this I was suddenly done. Just like that: Done. Although I didn't think of it in these terms, I had become enlightened, satoried, awake, truth-realized, a jnani, Buddha, whatever you want to call it. Getting the hang of this new state, however, would take me another decade.

I've been asked if I'd do it all over again if I had the choice, but it's not something I chose in the first place. There was never any decision. I never made any choice. It's not like a career path where you set your sites and go after it. It's more like you're walking along a mountain path that suddenly turns to mud and you find yourself hurtling at breakneck speed into the unknown and before long, hurtling at breakneck speed into the unknown becomes your reality. And then, one day, equally without warning, you're launched into empty space and, before too long, empty space becomes your reality.

That's where I am now. Empty space is my reality. The void. No-self. I abide in non-dual, non relative awareness. This is the part that can't be explained. I can't frame it in words even for myself. No one can say, "I am enlightened" because there is no "I' to it. There is no such thing as an enlightened person. The person writing these words, the person that speaks to the students, isn't the enlightened one. My personality, my ego, what appears to be me, is just an afterimage --- a physical apparition based on residual energy patterns. Jed McKenna is like the outfit an invisible man wears so that he can interact with people without freaking them out.

So anyway, that's a little bit about me.

END CHAPTER BY JED MCKENNA
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thoughts everyone?

With Love & Gratitude,
--Sean Patrick Simpson
www.AdventuresInManifesting.org

we are together!!

Well, first off, I enjoyed reading it.

Here are some of my thoughts:

Apparently, his epiphany is that, "Truth exists."

Any scientist could have told you that without the years of agonising that this guy appears to have gone through.

He is pretty unforgiving with his student in the use of the word 'I' ...

"“I? When did you confirm the existence of an I? Draw? Have you already raced past the part where you confirmed that you are a separate physical being i[n] a physical universe with the ability to perceive, to draw?"

... and yet ...

There is a clear contradiction between:

"Obviously, I haven’t always been an enlightened guy."

and ...

"No one can say, 'I am enlightened' because there is no 'I’ to it."

The contradiction may just be in the use of language, but anyone claiming that "empty space is my reality. The void. No-self. I abide in non-dual, non relative awareness", ought to be able to make a decent fist of differentiation between the essence that has apparently been enlightened and the 'I' that is speaking in his book.

Furthermore, I (either my essence or my presented self - you can decide) have been working with the basic assumption that I actually exist precisely because it is more profitable than squandering years, fruitlessly pondering the matter.

EDIT: Just wanted to say thanks to the OP. You provided the subject for my blog post today ...

How Do We Know We Exist?

Will

PS No attack on anyone's personal beliefs intended

Many look for truth in any exotic place possible, other than the one place it's given to us - the Bible

Very interesting concept, but it sounds a little too much introspection for too long a time - if I am correctly understanding the teaching.

Thanks for providing the chapter and introducing a new way of thinking (for me, anyway).

"You are a King, then!" said Pilate.

Jesus answered, "You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me."

"What is truth?" Pilate asked..." (John 18: 37-38, The New Testament)

Pilate was looking truth in the face and didn't recognize it. For Jesus had previously said, "I am the Truth, the Way and the Life." If you want to know "the Truth"... read the Holy Bible.

May God bless all who read this truth.
Doc Reed