Cleaving The Self

I recently finsihed a book by Krishnamurti, The First and Last Freedom. While much of what he said felt affirming, grounding, familiar — a part of me couldn't help but feel a sense of dread.

Let me summarize his schtick. He says that we have to go beyond time to be with eternity. Time is of the conditioned mind — it is memory, project, past, future, planning, regret, all of it. When we think, we are thinking with the conditioned mind — a mind steeped in the plaque of time.

Krishnamurti calls us to move towards what is, not what could be or what was. He calls us to focus on being, not becoming. Essentially whenever we have an idea of what we should be, instead of just observing or understanding what is, or what we are, that causes a cleavage of self, which is a source of discontent. We have this idea, okay if I do x, I will get y — this is a huge source of the merry-go-round folks.

This morning, I was talking to myself, literally, trying to muscle my mind through this process. I made sense of it like this.

Remember when you had disordered eating habits? The ladies know what I'm talking about. And you'd tell yourself; 'okay, if I stop eating bread, my life will transform.' I'm being serious. 'If I give up gluten, that will solve my foggy brain, my lack of sex-drive, my shitty job, my self-loathing, my handlebars — everything, it will solve everything.' And we are entirely convinced of this.

So we focus, we commit. We mentally prep for battle, envisioning dinner with your friends, refraining from the bread basket, sipping a gin and soda, 'oh, yeah I'm good on the bread.' And they wonder what they're missing.

For a few days, weeks, months — it works. We feel incredible, in control. Some of our predictions are coming true. We feel self-confident, maybe we lose weight. We think we've finally hit 'the answer,' so we can live the rest of our lives in pure, thin, glowing peace, full of celery and perky tits and whatever affection you felt you were lacking.

But, and there's always a but. One day, you start to feel a little tired. Your resolve to this incredible solution weakens. The wonderful uptick of positivity wanes. And maybe at a group-meeting someone offers you a cookie or one night after a few beers, you order a soft preztel. You justify it to yourself, 'I deserve this. It's fine, tomorrow I'll recommit.'

But maybe you don't. Maybe you fall deep into the precipice — tumbling from the summit into glacial shadows of self-deprecation, guilt, shame, and indulgence on whatever you withheld.

After a few days, weeks, months in the depths, one day you get an idea, a whim, a whiff of how you'll could turn things around. You realize 'Oh, it wasn't bread, I had it all wrong. I just need to practice yoga every single day. THAT'S the problem."

And click, click, click — up goes the ride.

What Krishnamurti's words speak to here is the cleavage, between the idea of a self, who we 'want' to be, and who we are.

I love bread. I absolutely adore it. I came out of the womb with an affinity for butter croissants. That is a truth about me. When I get this idea of a self, 'okay I could become someone who doesn't want or need or ever engage with that,' a cleavage occurs between what is and what I am trying to be.

If we seek something other than we are, we will always run in circles. My mind is constantly in this shadow chase, scouring the horizon for opportunities to optimize, expand, better myself. When I am met with a problem, I immediately think 'solution.' I am wired to instigate change in myself, at the cost of my self-esteem, my nervous system, my poor loving mind that just wants to find some solace from the very condition it creates.

Instead, Krishnamurti challenges us to dig into what is. Instead of coming up with a plan of how to fix or solve or change something within ourselves, we need to examine the thing we wish to take action on. We need to fully sit with, understand, and examine that.

What are the thought patterns, memories, traumas, learned fears or desires that layer over this 'object'? These are the questions we need to ask.

Krishnamurti also challenges us to engage in this observation without a desire to change. He says that if we come to observation with the intention of some end goal, that is just the same afforementioned ferris wheel strung on a mala necklace.

I know, it boggles my mind as well. It's like, damn Krish, how do I get rid of my desires AND understand all the shit that is wrong with me at once? But of course, it's not that easy. And there is no answer. There shouldn't be a question. There is only what 'is.'

So in a way it's maddeningly simple, and mundane, and boring, and difficult to behold. That tedium of the present we taste in meditation. Sometimes it's glowing, airy, effervescent even. And sometimes it's like nails on a god damn chalk board.

I've found myself feeling quite down considering Krishnamurti's wisdom. I guess because there really isn't a 'prescription.' There's no guarantee that by getting up at 5am to medidate for x number of months or years, I will feel this way or that.

At this point I can't really comprehend getting outside of my temporal mind. Like a toddler it is constantly grasping, for numb stimulation, for frivolous daydreaming, for the 'next solution' to moving towards fulfillment, success, content — depends on the hour really.

I suppose all I can do is just observe this within myself, identify it, and try to unpack the layers from which it came.