Looking Into Your Eyes. And Calling Your Bluff

Some time ago, I was asked to work with an Indian celebrity. His sponsor and close personal friend asked if I would help him. I told him I would agree to meet with him in order to see if he was genuinely interested in getting somewhere.

Having met many human beings in this capacity I’ve come to see a pattern. And the pattern is that while some are sent and some come by their own accord, very very few are truly ready to walk the path toward Transformation.

When I meet with someone for the first time, I certainly go in with somewhat of a blank slate, but I cannot deny the residue of experience which has imprinted upon me the fact that this person is probably not going to be All-In.

I invited this celebrity to my house for dinner. And afterwards we retreated into the basement. I asked him a few specific questions that were designed to force him to face himself in search of the answer.

After he spoke for about ten minutes or so, I knew he wasn’t the one. And so did he. He had put up the façade of the celebrity.

After he spoke, I said, “I don’t believe I can help you.”

To which he replied, “I don’t believe you can either. In fact, you were meant to meet me.”

I asked him why.

He said, “So that I can tell you about Vipassana. Really, Kapil, you must try it.”

I smiled and nodded.

Since then, I’ve received calls again from his sponsor and also from his agent who called me from India, telling me about his troubles, state of mind, deterioration of his work and so on.

I told both of them that it cannot come from Them. It must come from him. And that they need to allow him to make his own decisions and do as he sees fit. I had grown somewhat tired of the whole affair and tone is a much more potent communicator than content. And although I was polite in every way, I suppose my tone spoke loud and clear that this was not going to work.

Back to Vipassana . . .

He had become so insistent upon me going to Vipassana that he said he was going to send me text messages reminding me that I need to go to Vipassana.

If Vipassana was so helpful, why was he suffering in life and craft?

If Vipassana was such a savior to him, why was he not the living embodiment of equanimity?

If Vipassana was so effective, why does he still live in turmoil?

This is very illustrative of human behavior. And this aspect of human behavior is the central theme of this discourse.

Let me begin with the most common retort of human beings around the world as it relates to advice and teachings: “You can’t just listen. You have to Act upon it.”

This interplay between listening and acting is a steady staple around the world.

Let me ask you a question: If you are starving and I offer you food, will there be a chasm between my offer and your action?

Could it possibly be the case that you, as a starving man, listen to my words offering you food but you just don’t act? Could that possibly happen?

Look at the churches, temples, and holy gatherings around the world and you will see people sitting silent and nodding their heads in agreement with the speaker.

Go to the millions who listen to spiritual talks in India and you will, to a man, see them smiling and praising the poetic benediction of the guru on stage sitting in lotus posture.

After the talks end, they go home.

And like a rubber band they snap right back into their default state.

Most will hear me speak these words and they will assume that they know what I’m about to say next.

They will assume that I will say, “These people listen and nod their heads but they don’t Act upon the advice. That is the problem.”

Actually, that’s not what where I’m going with this. Because this isn’t the issue.

And the issue isn’t a problem to be solved by the world. It’s an observation that must be recognized by an individual.

The issue isn’t that people don’t Act upon advice.

The issue is why they go to the sermons in the first place.

You see, even as they are driving in the car on the way to the sermon, they recognize that this isn’t their first time going.

They recognize that they are going to nod their head. As they’ve done the last fifty-two times.

They also recognize that they are going to agree with everything the guru says. For who are they to disagree with a guru?

They recognize that they are going laugh at his jokes and applaud his advice.

And they full well realize that they aren’t going to Act upon any of it.

They know that they are not going to change. And the guru knows it as well.

They are complicit in this game of elephants which traverse the proverbial room. It’s the dance of the disingenuous.

And neither party would have it any other way.

For if the masses were Required to change their life if they attended, they would not attend.

And if the guru Insisted upon accepting only the Sincere seekers who were All In, he might if he was lucky be left with an audience of One.

Then why do these people go?

Why did the celebrity insist that I attend Vipassana?

Why do the religious people beg you to convert?

Why?

Because the vast majority of men and women are not interested in any sincere journey toward Everest. They’re interested in being Entertained by stories about Everest.

They aren’t interested in imbibing the Truths of any doctrine. They are interested in carrying its Flag.

They might spend five agonizing minutes trying to look inward. But they will gladly spend months organizing committees to create pamphlets and design banners.

They might close one eye in an attempt to search for their true nature. But the other eye is firmly affixed on the clock.

But they will spend 10 and 20 years trying to get You to join the cause.

Man isn’t in love with Truth. He’s in love with Groups.

He isn’t in love with any search. He craves to Belong.

He does not know who he is. As a result, he goes into the world in search of an identity.

As for Vipassana, I will gladly attend it. On one condition.

If those who exit the Vipassana hall are equanimous, regardless of the circumstance, I will attend.

If those who exit the Vipassana hall have discovered a way to be untouched by the world, I will attend.

If those who exit the Vipassana hall are losing their sense of manufactured self, I will attend.

But if any one of them tells me that “if I just keep practicing, one day it will come.”

I will smile and ask him, “My dear friend. Do you really believe that that which has not come after all these years, one day will?”

Siddhartha did not join a religion or a movement or a cause.

He became a Buddha.

And men who came after him created “Buddhism.”

Christ did not create a religion.

But the men who came after him created “Christianity” and insisted others to convert.

Isn’t it fascinating?

A realized man creates a footprint. And instead of allowing the footprint to inspire him to create his own, the man who follows drops to his knees and begins to worship the footprint.

That which does not come Now, even in its most infinitesimal form, is a lie.

That which will one day come will never come at all.

For if you believe that it will one day come, you are incredibly optimistic about the length of your remaining life.

I won’t tell you to shed the bright-colored robes, or rise from meditation, or stop going to Vipassana, or cancel your silent retreats.

For I’m not interested in the obeisance of your nodding head.

I’m not interested in being your guru.

And I’m not asking you to follow me.

Then what am I asking you?

Nothing at all.

I’m just looking at you squarely in the eye.

With a gentle smile.