“The Self is without form. It’s immortal, and it’s what you are.”
When I first learned about spiritual enlightenment, that was the sexiest thing I ever heard.
“Then I don’t have to worry about death, because I’m immortal! Right…? RIGHT!?” I thought. “I just have to directly experience the Self and then I’ll be happy and fulfilled.”
So I went off on a carrot-chase to experience the Self, which never works. How could something that’s infinite and formless be experienced as an object that’s finite and formed?
I was worried. “There must be some way to experience myself as immortal! I’m the Self! That’s what the goo-roos say!” I kept chasing my tail, hoping there was a way to be absolutely certain.
I gave up, and then it hit me. The Self the goo-roos talk about is impersonal and groundless. I obsessed over immortality not because I wanted to realize the Self, but because I wanted to deny my death. I twisted the spiritual teachings to reassure myself that me or my life will live on after the body ceases. But that’s not the case.
Take a look around, and you’ll discover a fact that is plain to behold:
Nobody makes it out of here alive.