ON BECOMING A HOLLOW BONE

The phrase “hollow bone” captivated me the first time I came across it. It is the “empty” quality that tribal shamans came to embody over the course of their grueling initiation. To be honest, I initially found it to be alluring and sexy. But that allure eventually turned to shock, that shock turned to torture and suffering, and finally that suffering gave way to an emptiness and freedom that I could never hope to describe with words.

It is no longer possible to engage in the human world. Even as I am in the world, I am not engaged with it. I see the drama and the dream for what they are…illusion. Becoming hollow was not what I once thought it to be. It is giving up all hope of ever being understood. Becoming hollow is a process of being emptied, while one is still living, by death itself. It is the only real death there is. Becoming hollow is losing one’s self, and in so doing, losing the entire world.

And without a self, it becomes difficult to engage with the world, particularly with other people. We’re conditioned to relate to people as selves, as separate from what we, ourselves, are. It feels strange now to be on the receiving end of this energy. It feels strange to be related to as a self, when in fact, I can find no such self. No such self exists.

I look into my direct experience: the senses. I look into my visual field, into sound, into sensation, into taste, into smell. And I find no “I” there. There, I find no self. I find only experience. I find only sensation. I find only sound. I find only taste. I find only smell. I find only dancing colors and shapes. These senses layered on one another, coupled with appearing and disappearing thought, creates the illusion of a separate self. It creates a mirage which has no actual existence.

These senses arise and fall within the empty space of awareness. Within the empty space of consciousness itself. They are made of the “stuff” which, in truth, is what I am. What my mind interprets as “other” is nothing more than an interplay of shapes, colors, sounds, and sensations, dancing within the spaceless awareness that I truly am. And, in that way, they cannot be said to be separate at all.

In direct experience, I can find neither self nor other. I can find only That. Only what I really am. You may call it God, if you wish. But this aware space is not personal. It has nothing to do with “Jennifer”. It has no “Jennifer” quality to it. It is devoid of Jennifer-ness. It is devoid of self. And so, too, it is devoid of other.

I could not see this clearly until death emptied all identification with Jennifer-ness out of me. I could not see this clearly until I faced the fullness of the shadow which identity casts. I could not see this clearly until I ventured into what Shamans refer to as the Underworld, which is truly akin to a hell-realm. This was a deeply painful process. Death ripped out layer after layer, revealing more clearly the emptiness obscured beneath the layers. When everything you’ve ever thought you were is gone, what is it that remains? What are you then?

Jennifer was nothing more than pushing and pulling. Nothing more than a perpetual tug-of-war with the dance of experience which is forever beyond control. Nothing more than a bundle of resistance. But, the strange paradox remains: Jennifer-ness still arises within this space of awareness that I really am. But it is seen now to be a simple dream, a misinterpretation…to be empty of any inherent existence. Jennifer-ness co-arises with all of experience. It is not separate. The illusion, too, is That which I truly am.

Jennifer never could have wanted this. She wouldn’t have wanted it…who could want it? Becoming a hollow bone meant that she had to die. The draw towards the Truth of being is like a moth to a flame; the moth does not survive this uncontrollable impulse. And neither will you.

And yet…the appearance of this form remains. The appearance of Jennifer remains. The dance of Jennifer is beautiful and free…free to be authentically as it is, without hindrance. Free to be human. To be messy. To be emotional. To be fierce. To be raw. To be vulnerable. To be wrong. To be misunderstood. To be judged. To be liked. To be hated. This is true freedom.

But the conundrum remains: how does a non-self engage with other non-selves who believe themselves to be selves? And who will defend this belief at any cost? This learning requires an entirely new type of existence. And it is, indeed, a very human learning process.

This paradigm shift from self to no-self, and then even out beyond the concept of no-self, is one of such magnitude that I cannot put words to it. The mind cannot grasp that which created it. This knowing has nothing to do with the mind. Nothing to do with thought. Nothing to do with concept. Nothing to do with meaning or purpose. Nothing to do with a person. Nothing to do with this or that. Nothing to do with duality. It is out even beyond the notion of freedom.

That may create an idea that this paradigm is one to be pedestalized. And yet, this paradigm I now occupy is not saintly. It is not mystical. It is not divine or godly. It is not elevated in any way. On the contrary, it is low. It is so low, in fact, that you overlook it. It is discarded by the mind as unimportant. It is low. It flows like water, close to the earth…barely noticed. It moves smoothly and freely. It is deeply ordinary. It is so ordinary, in fact, that you have forgotten it. But it is the most fundamental essence of what you already are. Of what you've always been. It is everything you've ever been searching for, and the strange part is that you already have it. You've just forgotten.

I cannot share this knowing. I cannot give it to you. And neither can anyone else. How can I give you what you are? How can I give you what you have always been? I cannot transmit it to you, but may perhaps ignite a flame of remembrance within you. I am helpless to help you. I can only point you back to yourself. Not to the self you think you are. But to what you truly are. Back to your own hollow nature. Back home.