I just had what I’ll describe as a core experience. Meaning that it didn’t result from words, from thinking. It wasn’t like working out a problem and arriving at an “understanding.” Yet that elusive “core experience” allowed me to arrive at an understanding.
So how did a core experience that led to understanding happen for me? And in what part of myself did it happen if not in my thoughts? And what was it that I understood?
I believe it had to do with allowing all my centers—physical, mental, emotional—to line up with each other. This involved the work of meditating which opened a space in me. A space which was focused not in mind, emotions, or body, but in all three. A space that was empty but concentrated. And in that space, something entered.
As I came back, again and again, to letting go of thoughts, of imagination, of bodily aches, my experience slowly coalesced into a sense of “coreness”. I suppose it could be called centeredness. But there was more to it. It carried a knowing—an experience of something that didn’t need words. That felt connected with That Which I do not Understand, which some call God.
During the meditation seminar we had an overview of the Shivapuri Baba’s life and teaching. His message was: It’s simple, just focus on God. Enlightenment is attainable for all. Without knowing it, I must have allowed those words to drop into my silence, like Mrs. Popoff advised.
The Core Experience
Towards the end of the seminar while making my bed, the words of the Shivapuri Baba came alive. I saw that yes, his teaching was simple—just concentrate on God. And I tasted the reality that I could do that. I could be quiet and centered enough to concentrate on the unfathomable, on God. It was a moment of enlightenment. But as I pulled the bed sheet taught, I saw just as clearly that I was not going to just do this one simple thing. I could, but I would not. This came as an inner revelation, a core experience, not a thought. In the seeing of those two realities—I could do what it takes, but I would not—I understood what Gurdjieff meant by The Terror of the Situation.
Yet, for all that, there is something I will do. I will come back to the breath. I will return to my practice of morning exercise, of struggling with myself, of working with my three centers. Of growing my Being.
I know this and, in that reality, there is Hope.