Unnecessary mysteries
The unconscious would be the refuge of all that is unpleasant and stressful, of all that has caused us harm, physical or moral injury. It would be the conscious mind’s reflex to postpone what needs to be resolved, fought and destroyed. It seems incapable of lifting the lid on this Pandora’s box. According to author Andrew Holecek, this protective mechanism prevents us from seeing clearly. Our deepest self is inaccessible:
Because this underworld is filled with unpleasantries (it’s the refuse heap after all, the landfill of rejected experience), it’s very effective in keeping you away from the truth that lies below, the absolute reality that underlies all relative appearance.
The relative unconscious mind is the birthplace and bed of the ego, and it will do everything in its power to keep you from going deeper. For the ego, ignorance really is bliss. It tries to keep you from the truth, because to penetrate the bed of ego is to see through its façade, and for the ego, that is equivalent to death.
Ego feels as if it will evaporate if it goes below the thicket of the relative unconscious mind, so it kicks and screams to keep you away from the deeper truth of your absolute undying self. Ego is just protecting itself, but in doing so, it ensures your suffering. As we will see when we discuss the clear-light mind, ego does die (or is, more accurately, seen through) when we drop from the relative to the absolute levels of the unconscious mind. Thus, from ego’s perspective, the defensive strategies are justified.
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Most people just don’t want to go there. They don’t want to be bothered with things like dream yoga. They rather just sleep.
~~ Dream Yoga. Illuminating Your Life Through Lucid Dreaming, and the Tibetan Yogas of Sleep. Andrew Holecek. Sounds True. 2016.
However, the road to self-knowledge, that reality that seems so far away, is a dangerous one. Buddhism teaches us to walk the middle path, not afraid to confront our fears but not to destroy our existence at any cost. It’s a delicate path strewn with pitfalls, thorns, and roses.
I wonder. What’s the reason for all this secrecy? If nature endowed us with a conscience, why must it be so wary of wounds? I can understand a protective mechanism, but why is this “I” so deep, if it exists at all? Who or what decided this?
Hasn’t all we’ve managed to do so far been to construct circumstantial explanations? Even if Buddha found the answer, Jesus Christ received his mission, and Mohammed his dreams. The primary reason for this light in love with its shadow remains confined; who knows where or why. Driven by incomprehensible atavisms, so many universes, planets, animals, insects, and human bacteria are crushed in the mill of recommencement, and we scratch our heads to make sense of it.
Some find inspiration and genius for discovery, others use it for their fleeting presence. We don’t want to be too stunned by the apparent uselessness of mysteries. It is, and it will be.
But me, me, me, I knock on the door of my unconscious. I ask for an audience. It seems to me that it would make a nice conversation.
