Chapter 5

Holes in the Spiritual Neighborhood

This will sound like another contradiction, but from my vantage point in the affluent suburbs of Washington DC, life is pretty good. People are working. People own their own homes—big homes at that. Our bellies are full. Our kids get twelve years of free education. Look at the rest of the world. There are countries in Africa in perpetual civil war. In parts of Asia families exist on a dollar a day. In Latin America they live on less than that.

Hey, we live like kings here. So we have a little crime—what's the big deal? Besides, where would you rather be? Russia? China? Why are we so well off and those other countries so poor? We must be doing something right.

Think about it. We've got it good. You don't want to mess around with this. It's the American way man! Besides, I work hard for my money. I deserve what I've got. Look, I vote every four years, I obey the law. What more do you want? If I want to come home at night, grab a cold one and stretch out in front of the tube, that's my privilege. It's what freedom is all about.

Tough position to argue against, isn't it? And why should we even try to argue? We do have it good. In some respects, Americans have it better than anyone has ever had it. Technology has made life very comfortable. At least for some of us. But not exactly for everyone. And therein lies the problem. Those of us who are comfortable are a bit too much so. We aren't able to see things from the perspective of the have-nots. Even people who come up from poor backgrounds quickly forget what it was like to be just scraping by. You might have to fight your way to the top, but once you get there, you never have to look back again. But not everyone can win at this game. Moreover, not everyone is disposed to playing the game this way. I don't mean to disparage those who glory in the success of modern capitalism, and I'd be lying if I said I haven't benefited from being raised in an industrialized nation, but however much we are doing right in this country, it is simply not enough when people are hungry.

There are those who believe poverty is normal, that there must always be a certain percentage living on the edge. But there is nothing normal about suffering. I don't want to suffer. Do you? Does anyone? We're settling for far less than we should in this regard, and I submit the reason is that collectively we have no heart. Just as we saw the lack of compassion in Camp Springs, it's apparent the rest of the country is also deficient in this critical commodity. Again, I fall back on the one-person argument to buttress my claim. If one person is hungry or one person is without a home, then something is wrong—not wrong with that person, but wrong with us. Now imagine not just one hungry person, but thousands, millions. Imagine 17,000 people literally dying from hunger. This is the number given by the UN Food and Agriculture Organization for deaths due to malnutrition daily, worldwide. And this figure is just for children![1] The mind can hardly grasp it. Seventeen thousand ... what does it mean? It could be twelve. It could be sixty-three. It could be a million. For most it's just a number and nothing more. We are numb to misery of such magnitude.

Economists get nervous when you raise arguments like this. They won't suffer the least criticism of the free-market system. But my complaint is not so much with the system as it is with the people who participate; that is, those whose success depends on exploiting others. And when you come right down to it, that includes anyone with a bank account and an insurance policy. The champions of capitalism believe that creating more billionaires somehow elevates the rest of us. It's clear they don't inhabit the same world with the homeless, the hungry and the disenfranchised. You can't understand the perspective of the poor when you live behind locked gates, high walls and security systems. Moreover, material wealth does not carry with it a right to control someone else's life. If you can't associate with common people, if you can't live in their world, you have no business dictating their economy, their culture or their future.

Once again we come back to growth of character. Whatever compassion exists in people's hearts, it is not surfacing, not to the extent it should. Forget the 17,000 number—it's irrelevant. The only number that matters is one. If you can't help one person, you can't help anyone. This argument is based not in abstraction, but in reality. I personally experienced the reality of seeking, and failing, to secure help for one person who was living on the edge right under our feet in Camp Springs. You don't address a problem like this by tinkering with the system. You must tinker with individuals. And you start with the people in your own backyard. In order to fix the problems of the world, you must bring the problems back to your home turf, expose the link between the residents of your community and the other inhabitants of the planet. That link is a deep one; it's more substantial than headlines in a newspaper or video from an overseas correspondent. There is a profound connection between you, me and the rest of the world, and when the connection is not realized, we all pay the price. But you don't have to bring your community down to establish the connection. You don't have to lower your own comfort level. In fact, if the approach is right, we should all become more comfortable. The problem is we are not setting our sights high enough.

The Prince George's police, for example,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . text truncated

But we still haven't explained how any of this yields the infinite. We might convince ourselves that Blake, Shakespeare and the author of the Tao had an experience of some sort that inspired them to compose their respective verses, but the authors don't provide much information about how they got there. Did they look inward? Did they practice the subjective approach, turning their attention toward the knower? Were they detached? Perhaps they practiced nothing. Perhaps it all came naturally. Moreover, how do we know what they experienced was the real McCoy, The Infinite itself, and not some quasi-infinite pretender?

We can't see what another person sees, so we'll never know for certain what was going through the minds of these poets, but in the case of the Tao Te Ching, we have a pretty good clue. The line, "When thoughts are finally still, the way of the world is revealed," gives us a specific instruction: Go to the place where thoughts are quiet—the answer lies there. That must be where thoughts originate. But what is left when there are no longer any thoughts? Or should I say, who is left? From the subjective approach it's clear. What remains is awareness. Pure, self-referring awareness on its own. Uncontaminated by sensations, emotions, desires or even thoughts. That's where we find the knower, the silent witness, the "I." It's also where we experience timelessness, the infinite aspect of existence.

I wish you didn't have to take my word for this, but that's the position I'm in. We're talking about a purely subjective experience. Since objective methods cannot measure subjective phenomena, strictly speaking you cannot prove with logic that experiencing pure awareness is how one finds the infinite. We can, however, construct an interesting argument that makes use of the fact that the human form is partly physical.

A person's physiology is composed of organs, among which is the nervous system, including the brain. Thought activity, which is non-material, manifests in the material realm as electromagnetic brain waves. The brain is a conglomeration of cells, molecules, atoms and, at the deepest level, subatomic particles. In concert these particles of matter generate electrical impulses that direct the functioning of the rest of the body, including, it would appear, the activity we perceive as thinking. To get to the source of thought from the material side then, we must determine how all of this atomic activity came about. For the sake of argument, let's ignore the fact that most of the cells in your body die off and are regenerated every few months. Let's pretend the matter that forms a person's body originated with the DNA molecules of his parents. If we follow the course of evolution backwards in time, we ultimately find that the DNA of all living organisms came from non-living dust and rock. The rock, in turn, came from the formation of the stars and planets, which, according to the physicists, coalesced from huge volumes of hot gas. There is good evidence the entire universe and all the material in it originated with the cosmic, balloon-like expansion of gaseous matter out of a point of singularity fourteen billion years ago, give or take. Space and time itself began at that one point, which has been nicknamed the "big bang."

But a point of singularity, remember, is an abstract element of logic, a concept we created in our minds. It represents the infinite, and as such has no measurable material form.[11] Thus, the entire universe arose from abstraction and organized itself in an orderly way into material units, from which the human body—yours and mine in particular—was formed. Sometime during the growth of this body it developed an awareness of its own existence and formed logical ideas about its origin. So, we have the universe coming out of abstraction, forming a body, and then rediscovering its abstract nature through thought. When you realize the implications of this argument, it's very startling. Mind-boggling, in fact. You ... me ... we are the universe, and we're having thoughts about it. Each one of us represents the thinking universe. When you, the universe, examine yourself through self-awareness, you examine the infinite, because that's where the universe, you, had/have your origin, in a singular point of abstract infinity.[12]

The conclusion is astounding, yet the reasoning is solid. What's interesting is that even though the argument makes use of evolution, it doesn't necessarily contradict those who say the human species was created, rather than evolved. In both views we find the passage of time is an illusion. To have been created means man arrived on the scene in a timeless moment. This is consistent with the big bang theory which says the universe, meaning us, arose from a timeless point. Moreover, despite the amazing result, the argument is not terribly complicated. You don't need to know much physics or biology to follow it. Yet as simple as it is to construct, few people seem to get excited about this. You would think if one discovered he or she were the universe, he would at least let the neighbors know; maybe throw a little party for himself ... perhaps a barbecue ... the guests could gather 'round and sing "We Are the World" ... something.

The problem, again, is that although it's fairly easy to follow the reasoning, the experience is another matter. But what a difference it makes when one begins to sense the connection between himself and the universe. As the sense grows, you start to live the "harmony of wholeness" spoken of in the Tao, where you are acting in the ever- changing, finite world, while at the same time aware of your position in the silent, absolute, infinite world.

The Bhagavad-Gita puts it this way:

Yogasthah kuru karmani

-or-

Established in Yoga, perform actions[13]

In this context, the Sanskrit word "yoga," or union, signifies awareness. It's the union of one's individual awareness with the cosmic awareness—the awareness of the universe. When the mind settles down, and pure awareness ("samadhi" in Sanskrit) is experienced, the union becomes manifest. When we spoke of refining awareness, this is what we were talking about.

There do exist methods that allow you to get beyond thought in this manner, that bring out the perceptual distinction between the finite and the infinite. Transcendental Meditation (TM) does this. It's a technique whose origins lie in the Vedic tradition of India. His Holiness Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, a modern-day sage from this ancient tradition, initially offered Transcendental Meditation in the late 1950s, and has been teaching it ever since.[14] There are actually myriad ways to improve one's experience of the infinite, but Transcendental Meditation may well be the easiest. It takes you directly to the transcendental source of thought, to a state of restful alertness where the mind becomes "established in yoga." It's a natural mental exercise. What takes a bit of time and practice, however, is the "perform actions" part of the prescription. In the typical waking state of consciousness, we are consumed by our actions, so fully involved in activity that we lose our sense of self. Most people live their entire lives this way, with a constricted, objectively fixed awareness that never looks back on itself. But through habitual exposure to pure, unbounded awareness, a person (and his physiology) gradually becomes infused with the qualities of that unbounded state. One begins to live as though one were indeed the expression of the universe. It's deep stuff, and perhaps more than a little confusing to those who haven't thought about it before, but there's no other way to put it. Your everyday activity takes place as usual, while at the same time you don't lose sight of that other part of you, the interior part, that connects to the timelessness of cosmic existence.[15]