Originally published in TRICYCLE Magazine Aug 04, 2023
In Buddhism there’s the expression “the finger pointing at the moon,” which is a way of speaking about our true nature. Doing this is a subtle and complex task, since it’s too easy to stay focused on the finger and lose sight of the moon. (In the Surangama Sutra, the Buddha used this analogy to establish the difference between the teachings—the finger—and our true mind or nature—the moon). How do we use words to describe that which is beyond words? The legendary Chinese philosopher Lao Tse begins his masterpiece, the Tao Te Ching, saying, “The Tao that can be expressed, is not the real Tao.” Even so, Lao Tse wrote eighty-one verses expressing that which cannot be expressed.
Although it’s an impossible task, many teachers have taken great pains to transmit the wisdom of our true nature with the goal of inspiring us to discover it for ourselves, since, whether we recognize it or not, this nature is fully present and available to us here and now. In fact, it’s present in all sentient beings, from an ant to the Buddha himself. There’s a metaphor that can point to the realization of this nature, but one which great teachers didn’t have access to since it hadn’t been invented: cinema.
When I use this metaphor in my talks, I begin by asking those present to remember the last time they went to the movies and I ask them, “What is that without which the movie couldn’t exist, but which at the same time isn’t affected by anything that happens in the story?” Then I tell them that the answer must be so simple and concrete that even a six-year-old child will be able to understand it. Before you continue reading, take a moment to think about how you’d respond.
Eventually, someone in the audience will give the answer I’m looking for: the screen.
Next I begin to ask more specific questions about the nature of the screen in relation to the movie. “When there’s a fire in the film, does the screen burn? If there’s a flood, does the screen get wet? If a time jump of a thousand years is portrayed, how much time elapses for the screen?” Note that nothing that happens in the movie produces changes on the screen, and at the same time, it’d be impossible to experience the movie without it. The screen is fundamental and indispensable; it’s always present; although for most of us, it goes completely unnoticed. We’re so hypnotized by the drama of the movie that we turn blind to what’s most important and fundamental.
It turns out that the movie of our lives is exactly the same. We’re so hypnotized by the stories we tell ourselves, that the most important element goes unseen. It’s that fundamental nature which is always present, and which the tradition speaks of as an awakened consciousness, without limits or time, which isn’t born and doesn’t die—our fundamental and true self. To uncover this nature is to liberate ourselves from the spell that says that we’re only a limited self who was one day born and who’ll one day die; an object in the midst of other objects in the world; an “ego in a skin bag,” in the words of the writer Alan Watts.
Our intuition has us believe that we’re a small “I,” fixed, permanent, and disconnected from everything else. This “I” seems to live somewhere inside our heads, behind our eyes, and between our ears, watching and listening to an external world which is sometimes threatening and other times seductive. From this perspective, the self spends its time trying to control the world and others—whom it sees also as independent and disconnected objects. This is the state of constant reactivity and dissatisfaction that emerges when the small self believes itself to be the center of the universe.
When we engage contemplative practices in which for a few moments we set aside our preconceived notions about who we are and what the world is and we simply allow reality to reveal itself exactly as it is, we have the opportunity to perceive in a new way. Then we can recognize a dimension of reality that’s always been present, waiting to be discovered.
When we begin to notice the incessant change that everything we see, listen, feel, or think goes through, we realize that all those perceived forms are radically impermanent; emotions come and go like the weather, sounds appear and disappear—same as smells, tastes, objects, and sensations. Not to mention thoughts—those internal images and sounds that, although transparent and ephemeral, almost always end up dictating the course of our actions, and in consequence, of our lives.
If all of these forms are in constant change, what then is that which doesn’t change? What is that which has always been present, both in moments of joy and of misery and frustration? What was equally present the first time we heard the soothing sound of rain or the heartbreaking cries of another human being? All experiences, from the most sublime to the most ordinary, have happened without exception in the open space of the awakened consciousness. All forms are apparitions in the space of this consciousness, always coming and going naturally and spontaneously like images dancing on a movie screen.
When we turn our focus toward the space in which this dance occurs, we realize that it is atemporal, limitless, and without a fixed center. Without this space, without this awakened consciousness, it’d be impossible to perceive any forms whatsoever, just as it’d be impossible to watch any scene of a movie without a screen. When this consciousness is revealed, it becomes evident that the I which we mistook for ourselves is neither fixed nor concrete—in fact, there’s nothing that is fixed or concrete. In this moment, our perception changes, showing us that the I and the world are not as “real” as they seem; rather they’re like a movie, like a dream.
Generally, this first insight lasts only an instant. It’s only a glimpse into this limitless space. But as we continue to practice, these glimpses become ever more frequent, and we learn to rest in this open and awake consciousness; we learn to recognize and trust it as we go through our lives. Eventually, it begins to be evident that nothing that arises is separate from this conscience, just as no movie image is separate from the screen, no wave is separate from the ocean.
This realization offers us the possibility to open our hearts and become intimate with every moment of our lives. It allows us to recognize our interdependence and connection with all beings and to live fully the mystery of existence from a place of wisdom and compassion that emerges when we recognize our true nature, always present here and now.
