The Enlightenment Shop
By Pete

Author's note: Some objects in this story have metaphorical meaning:
An elephant could mean an internet list; a bag, mental
baggage; fecal matter, judgmental thought.



As soon as the custom's inspector finished with my bag, I headed for
the elephant taxi stand. It was rush hour in Bombay, and elephant
taxis were in great demand. The first elephant in line had only one
eye, and looked quite old. Relieved to see five elephants standing in
line, I tried to hire the one in the middle, but only created a
ruckus among the mahouts. The first mahout in line wrestled the bag
from my hand and tied it to his elephant's tail. The thought of
riding on a one-eyed elephant down the expressway wasn't reassuring,
but instead of saying so, I complained about the unusual storage of
my bag.

"Wait a minute. Is that safe?"

"Very safe, Sahib."

"But what if the beast needs to...?"

"Needs... what?"

"You know.."

The mahout laughed. "Elephant dung is very good for leather. I'll rub
it in with a special cloth. Your bag will get a lovely shine." He
helped me to get on the elephant. "Where to?"

"The Enlightenment Shop on Holy Cow Street, please."

"Ah! Yes, I know where that is at. I have taken a few foreigners
there, but I don't recommend the place."

"Why not?"

"I have a better place for you. I know all the gurus in Bombay. I
have rated them in my list."

As we merged into the elephant lane of the expressway, he fished out
a piece of paper from his red vest's pocket, and turning around,
handed it to me . As I grabbed with my fingertips, a gust of wind
from a passing truck took it away. It flew over the elephant's head.
The beast caught it with its trunk, and promptly ate it.

"I'm so sorry. Was that your only list?"

"Yes, but don't worry, I have memorized all the gurus in the world.
I'm Sarlo."

"No! You are the famous guru rater?"

"Yes." Turning, he spread his arms as if to display his splendor.

"Imagine that! What good luck!"

"Yes, and you wanted to take the middle elephant. But, I forgive you.
And for you, I recommend, Gungha, the massage guru. She is very good.
She gives you a good rubdown all over your body. She concentrates on
the sex chakra. You'll reach big enlightenment in no time. Have you
ever been enlightened by a woman?"

"Yes, my wife has done that, on occasion. How often does one need to
be enlightened by a woman?"

"Well, that depends. A gentleman your age, probably twice a week."

"Hmm! That often! No wonder I haven't been feeling myself lately."

"No, no. You're not suppose to feel like yourself when enlightened.
You feel like the whole."

"The whole of what?"

"The whole enchilada."

"Is that a popular expression here?"

"No, here we say the whole tandori, but you look like you come from
California. Most American enlightenment tourists come from
California."

We had left the expressway, and he stopped the elephant. "Well, you
have to decide now. Which way? To Gungha's Massage Parlor, or to the
Enlightenment Shop?"

"Hell, I don't know. You have filled me with doubt. This uncertainty
is coming off your tip, Sarlo."

"No, no. Doubts are good for one seeking enlightenment. Reality is
not what it seems."

"What other choices are there?"

"Well, some gurus offer riddles, others offer sadhanas, like
breathing exercises and other sundry concentration tricks; some
explain reality in such abstruse language, that at first you think
they are enlightened. But then, after a while, you notice they
themselves are prisoners of their own explanations. Then, you feel
enlightened yourself, and become a troll who tries to prove all
other gurus are idiots. So, where to?"

"Take me to the Enlightenment Shop. That's the nearest one. This
elephant is full of fleas."

"Yes, Sahib, five hundred to be exact, but only a few are out for
blood, most are here just for the ride."

***
The man behind the counter resembled Ben Kingsley playing Ghandi. He
smiled a toothless grin and joined his palms in greeting.

"How can I be of service, noble seeker?"

"I want to buy an enlightenment pill."

He looked at me with shrewd little eyes. He shook his head sideways
in silence.

"Well?"

"We are out of them."

"Can you make one for me?"

"I could for the right price." He leaned over the counter to appraise
my bag. "Hmm, your bag has been treated with elephant dung. Nice
aroma. That's very good for an expensive bag like yours. I'll charge
you a thousand rupees for a pill."

"How much is that in dollars?"

"I have no idea."

"I have no rupees. So I must pay you in dollars."

"Make it a thousand dollars, then."

"No way! A rupee is not worth a dollar."

"Well, a hundred, then."

"Ten."

"Okay. I'll start preparing it right away."

He moved to a bookshelf in the back and selected two thin books. He
hobbled back. "These are the main ingredients."

"Books?"

"Yes, `The Zen teachings Of Huang Po' and `Prior to Consciousness' by
Nisargadatta. I'll tear up one page from each, and grind them in this
magic machine."

"That looks like a paper shredder."

He placed a plastic bowl in front of the machine and inserted the two
pages. A fine paper dust came out. He reached under the counter and
came up with a tiny box.

"Hairs from a dragon," he announced.

"Let me see."

He opened the box with great flair.

"That box is empty!"

"They are invisible to you, of course. Takes an enlightened eye to
see them." With a pair of tweezers he pretended to take two out and
dropped them in the plastic bowl.

"Now some resin from a bo tree under which a sage received
realization."

This time I could see the bottle was full of something resembling
maple syrup.

"This will mold the powder into a pill. And now, two drops of water
from the Ganges."

"Wait a second. That water looks filthy. That's going to give me
diarrhea."

"Exactly. That's part of the process. A bad case of diarrhea clears
the mind. Just wait till you get to your hotel room to take the pill.
Sarlo hates people shitting on his elephant. That's the reason he
doesn't recommend my shop."

"How will I know the pill has worked?"

"You'll feel no fear."

"But I generally feel no fear... unless there is something fearful
happening at the time."

"Hmm! Feeling fear when fear is needed, is wise. Well, you'll feel
happy all the time."

"But, I feel happy all the time... unless something pisses me off.
But that doesn't last long."

"Well, everything will look beautiful."

"But everything looks beautiful now. Even this dismal shop, even you.
And you are hideous!"

He laughed, and shook his head sideways. "My wife thinks I have
certain hidden charms. After you go back to California go see Pete
Seesaw. He claims he can tell who is realized or not." He made a
dismissive gesture.

"Do you think that's true?"

"Some think he is a charlatan."

"Well sir, I happen to be Pete, and I'm a story teller, not a
charlatan."

"What's the difference?"

"A charlatan tells a story to deceive, a storyteller to entertain."

"Hmm. Maybe so, but you don't look like him."

"Have you seem him, before?"

"No. But that's irrelevant, you don't look like him anyway. Are you
sure that you are Pete?"

"Let's forget about me."

He laughed a wheezing laugh. "Good! If you could do that, you'd be
enlightened."
 

  Confused by thoughts, we experience duality in life. Unencumbered by ideas, the enlightened see the one reality. - Hui-Neng  

http://www.truelightpub.com/grace/article.htm   An article based on Surprised by Grace which appeared in Creations Magazine in September 1997, and in Pathways magazine in October 1997. ENDING THE MYTH OF PERSONAL ENLIGHTENMENT   By Amber Terrell

When I set out on the spiritual quest as a young college student in the late sixties, there were certain images in my mind of what enlightenment would look like. As an enlightened being I imagined I would be "me", only with all the unwanted aspects of my personality corrected. And, having access to the limitless intelligence of the universe, I would of course be brilliant. Best of all my life would be transformed into a blissful existence, a heaven-on-earth of perfect health, perfect thoughts, and perfect circumstances.

After more than a quarter of a century had passed--consumed in intense practice of meditation and yoga, fasting, study, long retreats in foreign lands, and years of service to an Indian teacher--I began to wonder, "Why hasn't enlightenment happened? Why hasn't my personality been fixed? Why doesn't my life look like I imagined it should look by now?" I began to sense that there was a missing piece in my spiritual repertoire--but what? I had done all my practices so devotedly, for so long.

Around the middle of 1994 I began to ask the question, "Who is it that gets enlightened?" Is it the ego, the personality, the mind? No one I queried could shed any light on this question, but I began to suspect that this so-called search for enlightenment I had been engaged in for so long might be in reality some kind of glorified personal improvement program. This person, "I", wanted to get free. "I" wanted to get pure. "I" wanted to be perfected. A greediness became apparent that didn't quite feel right. Yet all the teachers and masters I had studied with up until then only seemed to feed--with their techniques and chants and therapies and promises of heaven--this needy, grasping "I" who wanted enlightenment.

In the Spring of 1995 a shaft of light pierced the darkest and most frustrated hour of my spiritual quest. I met an American teacher named Gangaji who finally stopped this feeding, actually stopped the "I" itself. Very simply she said:

That which you have searched for, cried for, bargained for, sold for--this is WHO YOU ARE.

But she didn't just say it and leave me to think about it. Gangaji's very presence emanated a powerful transmission of Grace that severed the identification with the personal "I" long enough for me to see that this "unenlightened" separate individual I had imagined myself to be never really existed--except in the mind.

You have taken on some cloak called body, circumstances, thoughts, and emotions. No problem with that. Only, if you identify that you are those things you begin to suffer. Because, you see, these cloaks, these clothes, begin to disintegrate very quickly. And if you identify yourself with something that obviously disintegrates, there is great fear and unnecessary suffering and a search for that which is permanent.

In the meeting with Gangaji everything changed in my life, spiritual and otherwise. In her I saw my true limitless Self reflected back at me with an awesome clarity and depth. I stopped practicing, stopped perfecting, stopped hoping, stopped escaping, stopped searching. I stopped everything. The deep connection and resonance with her opened my heart to her love, and bared my neck to her sword. Deeper and deeper the truth that poured from her cut away the illusion of identification with mind and personality--I am this body, I am connected to these thoughts, these circumstances are real.

As the false identification dropped away a vastness became apparent, an immovable Presence, a Being-ness not separate from anything or anyone, which revealed itself to be who I am, and who I have always been. As the tenacious mind tried to arise again with its habits of re-identification, Gangaji's simple yet profound guidance revealed: the habits of mind cannot survive the willingness to meet whatever arises--without following them, without repressing them. Just be still.

What ancient habits of grasping and repressing fell away in this willingness! What long-winded fears evaporated in this Being-ness that has no boundary. No longer was it necessary to perfect thoughts, emotions, or circumstances. All the imperfections of life could arise, as they inevitably do, without disturbing in the slightest the vastness, the peace of Being.

It is only No One that is already perfect. If you can really hear this then you are willing to notice that everyone is imperfect. Then you stop this tragic and insane search to make perfect what is inherently imperfect. And in stopping that search, stopping the grasping to make form conform to some idea of perfection, the mind is still. In stillness, perfection is revealed.

The false identification with "I" haunts most of us throughout life, haunts and taints even the spiritual quest itself. There is such a fervor in the New Age community toward "self-improvement," fueled by the sense that one must work on oneself, perfect something in oneself, attain something for oneself--usually relating to the mind, the emotions, the body, or the circumstances of one's life. And all this simply perpetuates the belief in a "someone" created in the mind, who needs to "get" enlightenment. This is the irony, the great cosmic joke--when the "person" who is searching for enlightenment dissolves, then and only then is the goal of the search revealed--having been obscured all along by the "me" who wanted it.

What exquisite simplicity! As Gangaji suggests, it is perhaps just this simplicity that has held enlightenment as the deepest secret--a mystery of Grace.

The light of conciousness embraces the entire universe. Pan-shan