<< Back

An Experience of Enlightenment

by R. D.

I think one of the amazing, sublime, and useful aspects of meditating with Rama was getting a taste of the experience of enlightenment. Like a father who lifts his son onto his shoulders for a preview of the world as seen from the perspective of an adult, so too did Rama temporarily lift us up into higher states of mind.

Part of that experience for many includes witnessing golden light and seeing other visual effects. And while interesting, most agree that these visions are peripheral and beside the point. I myself long wondered about the accounts I had read, because for the most part my own meditations were devoid of any light shows. Following my usual pattern of self-exclusion, I thought perhaps everybody was seeing them except me. Occasionally I did get a hint of something though.

Perhaps the first time was on a solo backpacking trip in northern New Hampshire's White Mountains. One couldn't have asked for a nicer day -- not too hot, mostly clear blue skies, and hardly any of those puffy white clouds. I know all too well how bad the weather can get here, and I'm eager to get up to higher elevations to enjoy the scenery.

I've just started meditating with Rama -- it's been barely two months -- and everything is fresh and exciting. It's like I have a shiny new toy. Every time I encounter another nice place with a good view, I sit down, pull out my tape player, and meditate for a few minutes. I've just gotten "Music From Nirvana," and I'm listening to it over and over. Despite some rough production edges, it remains one of my most favorite Zazen tapes. (Although technically, that wasn't their name then.)

I reach the top of the ridge and walk along it on a rock-lined path. Many summits in the White Mountains are barely above the tree line, if at all, but on this ridge one can walk for over a mile with commanding views in all directions. With the gorgeous weather it's a real treat -- I've been up here when clouds and fog have limited visibility to a couple hundred feet. Some streaky bands of clouds have joined the puffy ones, but it's still glorious.

I find another comfortable rock near a drop-off and sit down. I'm near the high point of my trip, in more ways than one. At my feet the Pemigewasset Wilderness stretches out to other ridges and peaks far beyond. I can see for miles, and there isn't a single man-made artifact in sight. Below me it is green with accents of gray rock; above is blue sky with white clouds. I slot the Nirvana tape into the player and start to meditate.

I'm already ebullient and the music takes me higher. I've been stuffing my brain with the rare beauty of the day, so it seems easy to quiet my thoughts. Still, I can't resist opening my eyes to peek at the view. What I see is puzzling at first. The panorama before me isn't as green as I expect. It looks like it's been diluted with another color -- yellow, in fact. For a moment I think it's because the sun is shining in my eyes, but no -- the sun is above and a bit behind me. I close my eyes and meditate some more, but it's hard to resist the urge to look. I give in and open my eyes wide. There's no doubt that something is going on, even though it is subtle. I blink and look away, but the vision persists. The valley below is most certainly lit by a yellowish or -- dare I say it -- a golden light. It fills the giant bowl and spills over the top into the sky. The music plays on and I witness the sight without analyzing it.

As I continue to gaze I become aware of something else. It's even more subtle than the golden light. I don't exactly see it; I feel it -- but with my eyeballs. Feel it with my eyeballs? How can I feel something with my eyeballs? I don't know, but that's the best description I have. What I feel/see are lines, golden lines, and they crisscross the valley every which way. There are a myriad of them connecting everything in a dense web. That sensation doesn't last long, and I go back to meditating. When I finish, most of the light is gone, although a mild yellowish tint remains. Indeed, for the rest of the hike down the ridge, whenever I look into the valley I see a slight golden glow.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

For me, the experience of meditating with Rama is about feeling, not seeing. But how to describe a feeling? Imagine trying to accurately convey to a Martian what it's like being cold, stubbing your toe, or falling in love. Maybe that's why people write about the light shows. Given our visual orientation, perhaps it's simply easier to describe those things with words.

A certain vibration is part of the feeling, and I mean that in a literal sense. Someone loaned me a copy of The Last Incarnation once, and in what must be regarded as an act of supreme faith, they mailed it to me. I stopped by the post office on the way to work and felt the buzz of the package right away. It was almost like the thick envelope contained a vibrator. At work I put the book in the center top desk drawer, yet I could somehow feel the energy coming through the desktop. When I put my hand on its cover, I sensed a subtle hum, similar to that produced by a small power transformer.

I had a similar experience a few years later reading the local free weekly broadsheet. Without any effort, I opened it to a full-page age that featured a large pyramid. The very page seemed to be vibrating oh-so-slightly, and I recognized the energy behind it instantly. It was an ad for a meditation seminar, and I became very excited. It had been a couple of years since I had meditated with Rama. The simple truth was that I was not keeping up with the group, and between a couple of missed meetings on my part, combined with changes of venue, I simply had no idea where to go or if I would be welcome -- even if I could have afforded it. But now it looked there was a chance to meet with him again.

The seminar was held in a little building in the back of the Fort Mason Conference Center in San Francisco, and as I had arrived early I spent a few moments admiring the view across the water to the Marin Headlands. I was already starting to sense a familiar energy. Entering the room confirmed my expectations. What sounded like Zazen was playing over a small pair of speakers, and the vibration level climbed a little higher. I sat down and began to meditate, and I had no doubt that Rama was nearby. How to describe the feeling of that energy? It's like getting wrapped up in a fuzzy warm blanket, or slipping into a warm bath that's just the right temperature. The energy envelopes you outside your skin and somehow inside you at the same time. It warms, comforts, heals, relaxes, and invigorates you all at once. I felt all this and more that night, and it seemed to emanate from behind a door at the back of the room. I was supremely confident that at any moment, Rama was going to step out and begin the seminar.

I was stunned when not Rama, but someone else emerged to lead the seminar. How could this be? It was to become one of those moments where my view of the world was forced to shift in the face of incontrovertible evidence that things were not as I thought them to be. Indeed, it was not so much of a shift as an unavoidable, sudden lurch that drags one along unwillingly. I was distracted all night, as I was convinced that Rama was in the back room, supplying the "juice." Of course I soon learned that Rama's current students were holding these lectures all over the country. I slowly began to accept the fact that Rama was not physically present. And while I regrettably do not remember the person's name, I must add that they conducted themselves, and the seminar, impeccably.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

Of course, meditating with Rama isn't just one set of feelings. The experience has ten thousand facets, as the Tibetans are wont to say when confronted with an unimaginably high number. It certainly wasn't always warm and comforting. I'm reminded of this when I think of one of the desert trips.

I was fortunate to be able to attend a couple of the desert trips, although for me it was never the Castandedan event that some have described. As usual, I flew into San Diego and rented a car for the drive out to Borrego Springs. I start to feel the rising power as I pass through El Cajon and leave the city behind. I've never felt it like this before. It noticeably increased, stepwise, with each leg of the journey. I turn off the highway, heading north, and click -- the energy level shoots up a notch. Reaching Julian I turn east, and again the intensity ratchets upwards. It's exactly like each road has a higher power line, and as soon as the car turns onto them I'm plugged into it. But this wasn't that warm, fuzzy blanket feeling of comfortable envelopment. This energy was restless, aggressive, probing. My sense of nervous anticipation grows. I focus on the twisting road in front of me, afraid that some small-minded part of me will put the car in a ditch to avoid what's ahead.

I make the last turn onto the road into Borrego Springs, and this time the energy level jumps dramatically. It's literally a visceral experience -- I feel it in my gut. It's like a cable runs along the road and is connected to my solar plexus. It simultaneously saws back and forth as it pulls me forward. Fortunately the feeling subsides as I arrive at the motel. I'm slightly disorientated, but I pull myself together and check in.

It's not the first time I've felt that line being tugged through my mid-section. Some months earlier, at a church in Boston, Rama is deciding who will and who will not advance to a new intermediate program that he's starting. There I get my first taste of this side of him, and it feels like my intestines are being pulled through my navel for inspection. This is an aspect of Rama not often mentioned here. Of course he usually displayed a funny, silly, warm, light-hearted, and compassionate nature. But along with that was a stern, ruthless, pitiless warrior spirit that kicked ass and took no prisoners. I will see more of this in the months ahead, as we will be chided, poked, and scolded about our lackluster performance and bad habits, and rightfully so.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

One of the clearest experiences of enlightenment I had meditating with Rama I think took place at New England Life Hall in Boston... or was it the Ramada Renaissance near Manassas? No matter. It was one of those halls somewhere where we had a seminar once.

Like so many other times, Rama would play some music and instruct us to start meditating. I would be aware of the music and the growing stillness in my mind for a couple of minutes, then poof -- I was gone. There was no more me, no more music, no more anything. To be accurate, I was only aware of this absence upon my return to some semblance of waking consciousness. I knew there was a gap between the beginning of the meditation and the end, but I had no awareness or memories of that gap.

The same thing happened in this particular instance, with one difference. As the meditation began, I could feel myself filling up with light. How can you feel light? I don't know, but felt it I did. It actually started down by my legs and rose up my body, just like filling a container with fluid. As the light continued to climb in my chest, I felt myself dissolving. By the time it had risen to my head, there weren't many thoughts of "me" left. Shortly before the light reached the top of my head, "I" was gone, like so many meditations before.

In reflecting back on this experience years later, I realized it held the perfect metaphor for the experience of enlightenment. Have you ever taken an open, clear glass container and submerged it in a bucket of water? The container fills with water and then essentially disappears. The same water both fills the container and surrounds it. When the container is clear it is all but invisible in the water. The container may be said to contain water, but only on a technicality. It is actually awash in water, within and without.

That for me is the best analogy for the experience of enlightenment: being surrounded by light, inside and out, so that the container of the self simply disappears.

That's what I wanted to talk about.