Peek-a-Boo

Remember playing this with a child? You hide your face behind your hands, then suddenly reveal yourself with a cheerful "peek-a-boo!" The child's eyes widen, their face lights up with a mixture of surprise and delight. For a split second, their whole world seems to revolve around your reappearing face. Then, just as quickly, they're giggling, eager for you to do it again. It's a simple game, but it captures something profound about human nature - our fascination with revelation, with things appearing and disappearing.

I've been reflecting on how the pursuit of spiritual awakening often resembles an adult version of this game. You chase after moments of sudden clarity, those "glimpses" of reality that leave you amazed and awed. And just like children playing peek-a-boo, you crave more, always more. But these glimpses, as exciting as they are, can become a trap.

The appeal is understandable. That contrast between your normal way of being and what feels like a wholesomely natural state can be intoxicating. It's a rush that sends you on a quest for the next big reveal. You start to treat these glimpses as units of progress, thinking that if you can just string enough of them together, or find the really big one, you'll finally arrive at some permanent state of enlightenment. You get focused on chasing that feeling of being dumbfounded, imagining you'll be walking through life in a constant state of awe. You might think awakening, whatever that is to you, means permanently feeling the way you do during those peak experiences.

And hearing stories from spiritual teachers about their gigantic shifts doesn't really help you lose that expectation. But have you ever thought that obsessing over a single moment in a timeline is the synonym of being stuck? These glimpses, these moments of revelation, seem to me to be merely an effect, rather than the substance itself. They are reactions to what's happening and not what is happening. And as pleasurable as it may be, focusing on it is kind of like getting stuck on the fireworks on 4th of July rather than remembering to celebrate your independence.

The intensity of the feeling of extraordinariness might depend on how big the shift was or how many concepts and beliefs you were holding onto. The feeling is still something dependent on the past, however. It's a comparison between what was and what is. And as long as you're making that comparison, you're not fully present in the immediate reality. By treating this feeling as an indicator of something happening, you miss the subtle unraveling happening in the quieter moments.

This is when you say to me "I've had it, but now it's gone". This is how you get lost again and how you fuel your seeking, never to arrive.

What you should, if I may say so, be looking for isn't the feeling of amazement, but the ease that comes when the glimpse is digested by your system. It's about being immediately calm, yet reactive when needed and not getting stuck. It's the readiness to accept everything that comes, with reactions spanning only a short duration. Looking to feel astonished is just another addiction. You become addicted to the excitement of the shift. Yet, there is really no actual shift. It's all fluid, seamless, and subtle. You don't expect it to be, and that's why you become easily misguided.

Not to contradict myself, but by letting go of your addiction to these glimpses, by in fact abandoning all hope for a radical transformation, you open yourself to something truly astonishing. It's not what you were looking for, but it is quite amazing. The rush is still there, but it's not the cheap thrill of a peek-a-boo moment. It's the exhilaration of being fully alive, fully present, without the need for altered states or dramatic revelations.

The real freedom comes when the need for glimpses fades away. It's not about finding peace in the mundane or joy in the everyday – those are lovely sentiments, but they don't capture the profound nature of what we're discussing. It's about recognizing that the extraordinary is woven into the very fabric of existence. It's seeing that every moment, regardless of its apparent ordinariness or extraordinariness, is a complete expression of the ineffable.

So, my dear friend, as you continue on your journey, I invite you to let go of the need for those big, transformative glimpses. Tune into the quiet moments. The moments between the revelations. Feel the subtle unraveling of old patterns, the gentle settling into a new way of being. You're not trying to permanently inhabit some altered state. You're learning to be fully present in this only state, right here, right now. With all its imperfections, all its messiness, all its unfathomable depth disguised as simplicity.

And if you find yourself getting caught up in the chase again, pursuing those peek-a-boo moments of sudden clarity, that's okay too. Gently remind yourself that what you're looking for isn't hiding, waiting to surprise you in a moment of revelation. It's here, in the ease of this breath. In the simplicity of this moment. In the quiet space between thoughts where you simply are. It's in the recognition that the seeker and the sought are one and the same, that the journey and the destination are inseparable.

So stop playing peek-a-boo with your own nature. Open your eyes fully and see that what you've been seeking has been here all along, not hidden, not glimpsed, but fully present in every moment of your existence. It's not about finding something new or extraordinary – it's about recognizing the extraordinary nature of what's always been here.

And in that recognition, paradoxically, you might find yourself in a state of quiet wonder – not because you're constantly amazed, but because you're continually aware of the miracle that is simply being. It's a subtle, steady appreciation of existence itself, free from the need for profound revelations or peak experiences. It's a gentle, ongoing recognition of the profound in the ordinary, the extraordinary in the everyday. It's a calm, clear seeing that doesn't depend on glimpses or contrast, but on a direct, unfiltered experience of life as it is.