The Eighth Fetter
My Experiences
When the seventh fetter fell, there was no longer the belief that there are “real things” that I was perceiving. As a result, there was no longer anything to work with: nothing tangible to reflect on, search for or dissect. I quickly realized that this next stage of inquiry had to be of a much different nature than what I had done previously. It was a quite enigmatic stage, in that I knew that nothing really existed, yet the lingering sense of “I Exist” or “I Am” was nevertheless unmistakable. I would describe it as an oh-so-subtle “me-based” dualistic tendency, like an itch that cannot be scratched. As a result, it was a period of some 17 months of re-orienting to a new perspective on experience, using trial-and-error to come to grips with what remained of “me”.
After several months, I stumbled upon looking for how a “me” was ostensibly proven or established. It seemed as though there was a pre-existing template of “me”, and various aspects of experience were interpreted and assigned a role or place to fill in that template. For example, if it seemed the template called for “consciousness” or “interior”, I would quickly manufacture those as an aspect of “me”. That this sort of interpreting was possible seemed to prove there was something or someone, if not manifesting, at least being indicated or established. There was thus the recurring tendency to cast about for something to delineate and confirm “what I am”, even though there was no longer a tangible or observable place for that something to stick. I also started to see what the restlessness of the 9th fetter is like, in that I realized I was also casting about for something reliable and predictable, and even permanent, that was "me".
Once I started to become sensitive to this restlessness and casting about, I was able to allow it to “just be”, as opposed to acting on it and habitually landing on a sense of a “me”. It became clear I was casting about for a permanent spot to land or alight. Even if I couldn’t put my finger on it as something tangible, the sense of “me” provided the desired sense of having somewhere to be that was reliable and predictable.
Then, several weeks later, while sitting in a hotel room, I started to notice the actual moment when the sense of “me” would arise. Simply looking around the room at a picture or a lamp, I noticed that the “me” sense would arise as soon as I initially recognized the picture or lamp. It was as if the mere recognition of something else that was ostensibly “out there” was enough to once again conclude that “I Am in here”.
It eventually became clear that there seemed to be some sort of filter or detector through which something permanent could be recognized, distinguished, differentiated or detected. It was as if there was a fundamental “I just know” sort of confidence that permanence was possible, or even inherent to reality, even if actual examples couldn’t necessarily be found. Once this supposed filter or detector was activated, it was as if I took a subtle step back, into "my" internal experience, which then created an external aspect to experience as well.
One morning, I tried looking both for and with this supposed filter or detector, as if the filter or detector was itself a reliable and predictable place to land. As expected, there was nowhere reliable or predictable to land, and there was no detector or filter observable either. After several minutes of looking but not finding what I was looking for, there was no “aha!” sort of shift, but something had obviously changed. I went to work that day somewhat disoriented, and it was on the bus ride home that the penny finally dropped on the illusion “I Exist”.
The belief that “I Exist” was a matter of believing there was some way to experience or know permanence, with a “me” as both knower and fundamental example of that. In essence, adopting the view that permanence persists somewhere created the inferential illusion that there must be a filter or detector by which such permanence is accessible or knowable, thus a “me” that has, or perhaps better is, that filter or detector, thus a completely circular argument and illusion. Generating the basic notion of an “I” ostensibly proved that permanence was possible and available. It’s as if two complementary illusions held each other up: that of a detector and someone who had/was that detector. I can appreciate that others might describe it differently, but in any event, whatever the belief was had dropped away.
That evening I sat in my home, appreciating this new (lack of) perspective. Looking around the room, there were many things ostensibly there: a chair, a knee, a thought, a lamp, a nose, all of which would previously have been sorted into “me” and “not me”. Taking all that in, I then asked “where am I in all this”, but there was still just a chair, a knee, a thought, a lamp, a nose. The experiential “show” or display was the same: there was no change in perspective. More importantly, it was no longer possible to recognize or generate a “me”. While for some this shift can be disruptive or even scary, my natural response was to laugh at how simple it was and how long it took to see what had always been in plain sight.
While the sense of boundaries had been fading all along, all perceived boundaries finally fell for good. Rather than there being a “me” that was concurrent with all else or “one with everything”, there simply wasn’t any sort of division at all. Room, knee, thought and all else were on the same experiential stage. Up to that point, I had thought in terms of mistakenly identifying with experience, thus the subtle belief that someone was doing that identification. However, it was really a matter of mistakenly identifying as experience and the everyday recognizing of this or that.
Without any sense of “me” or “I”, there was no longer what is generally called reflexive consciousness or self-awareness that is usually required for meditation and introspection. For example, when we look for a “self”, or reflect on how or why we feel the way we do about something, reflexive consciousness is used. After this shift, there was no longer the sense of referring back to anything or anyone, what I once heard described as looking for a “second opinion” on what is happening. Put another way, there was no longer any sense of “in here” or “out there”, or of “consciousness” or an “object of consciousness”, but rather a continual sense of a display or show of “just what is happening”. The Bāhiya Sutta’s “in the seen/heard, just the seen/heard” is a succinct teaching in this regard, especially the punch line that “in all that, there’s no you.” It’s not nihilism, wherein there is nothing being seen or heard; rather, within experience, there is simply no self or person at all, even though (what is referred to as) seeing and hearing are happening.
It seemed as if someone had walked around with a video camera at my home, place of work, around my neighborhood, and so forth in order to create a montage of all the sights and sounds of my everyday life. If I were to then sit and watch the video, everything and everyone would be there, but there would also be the knowledge that it wasn’t me who saw and heard all of that: it was just seen and heard. Thus, when all sense of identity fully drops away, everything but an inferred “me” is still seen and heard as temporary thoughts and appearances. The indeterminate, temporary notion of a “body” walking across the street, or a “me” that nominally corresponds to that pronoun , is still available, very handy for navigating daily life, but there is no longer the sense that it is any more or less significant than any other temporary designation such as a “tree”. I also noticed that there was what might be called a more natural three-dimensional aspect to experience, indicating that what previously seemed like a flat, two-dimensional display was artificial.
One might suppose that we must need at least a nominal or empirical sense of a “self” to get on with daily life, help others, etc. However, this sort of conceptual overlay simply isn’t needed. Just as we intuitively know how to get on with life once the illusion of a separate or personal “self” falls at the first fetter, we can function just fine without any sort of “me” or “self” at all. In a way, we keep peeling off layer after layer of “me”, realizing we never needed the one that just disappeared, until they’re all gone. While navigating through a crowd or helping someone with a task, we can watch what is ostensibly our right hand do this and that, but without the notion that it is attached to or part of anyone or anything: “in the hand, just the hand”.
As a result, interactions with others became very immediate, not just “leaning into” conversations and relationships, but no longer having any sense of referring to or retreating into thought, or of being anywhere else than right there with them. There was no interiority to seek out, or to rest or hide in: thoughts and memories came and went on the same stage as the other person, as it were. Thus, rather than the complete evaporation of the “self” leading to an alienation or withdrawal from other people and situations, it was just the opposite. A certain boldness arose, wherein whatever seemed like it needed to be said or done in a given situation was simply said or done. What previously would have felt like taking a sizable risk was just getting on with whatever was at hand.
There was still the inclination to get up early every morning to meditate; in fact, there was an increased inclination to do so, and I could almost immediately enter into the “empty abiding” if I chose. However, since there was no longer a noticeable change of perspective upon meditating, there was no longer a difference between meditation and non-meditation,or between meditation one meditator.
This was a decidedly more stable and conclusive juncture than any other step along the path had been. There was no longer a sense of striving or mystery, but rather a confidence that whatever further experiential shifts might happen would be just as straightforward. A fundamental sense of joy and equanimity settled in: not the exuberant joy that accompanies the high points of life’s roller coaster rides, but more of a baseline positivity that has been unshakable.
After several months, I stumbled upon looking for how a “me” was ostensibly proven or established. It seemed as though there was a pre-existing template of “me”, and various aspects of experience were interpreted and assigned a role or place to fill in that template. For example, if it seemed the template called for “consciousness” or “interior”, I would quickly manufacture those as an aspect of “me”. That this sort of interpreting was possible seemed to prove there was something or someone, if not manifesting, at least being indicated or established. There was thus the recurring tendency to cast about for something to delineate and confirm “what I am”, even though there was no longer a tangible or observable place for that something to stick. I also started to see what the restlessness of the 9th fetter is like, in that I realized I was also casting about for something reliable and predictable, and even permanent, that was "me".
Once I started to become sensitive to this restlessness and casting about, I was able to allow it to “just be”, as opposed to acting on it and habitually landing on a sense of a “me”. It became clear I was casting about for a permanent spot to land or alight. Even if I couldn’t put my finger on it as something tangible, the sense of “me” provided the desired sense of having somewhere to be that was reliable and predictable.
Then, several weeks later, while sitting in a hotel room, I started to notice the actual moment when the sense of “me” would arise. Simply looking around the room at a picture or a lamp, I noticed that the “me” sense would arise as soon as I initially recognized the picture or lamp. It was as if the mere recognition of something else that was ostensibly “out there” was enough to once again conclude that “I Am in here”.
It eventually became clear that there seemed to be some sort of filter or detector through which something permanent could be recognized, distinguished, differentiated or detected. It was as if there was a fundamental “I just know” sort of confidence that permanence was possible, or even inherent to reality, even if actual examples couldn’t necessarily be found. Once this supposed filter or detector was activated, it was as if I took a subtle step back, into "my" internal experience, which then created an external aspect to experience as well.
One morning, I tried looking both for and with this supposed filter or detector, as if the filter or detector was itself a reliable and predictable place to land. As expected, there was nowhere reliable or predictable to land, and there was no detector or filter observable either. After several minutes of looking but not finding what I was looking for, there was no “aha!” sort of shift, but something had obviously changed. I went to work that day somewhat disoriented, and it was on the bus ride home that the penny finally dropped on the illusion “I Exist”.
The belief that “I Exist” was a matter of believing there was some way to experience or know permanence, with a “me” as both knower and fundamental example of that. In essence, adopting the view that permanence persists somewhere created the inferential illusion that there must be a filter or detector by which such permanence is accessible or knowable, thus a “me” that has, or perhaps better is, that filter or detector, thus a completely circular argument and illusion. Generating the basic notion of an “I” ostensibly proved that permanence was possible and available. It’s as if two complementary illusions held each other up: that of a detector and someone who had/was that detector. I can appreciate that others might describe it differently, but in any event, whatever the belief was had dropped away.
That evening I sat in my home, appreciating this new (lack of) perspective. Looking around the room, there were many things ostensibly there: a chair, a knee, a thought, a lamp, a nose, all of which would previously have been sorted into “me” and “not me”. Taking all that in, I then asked “where am I in all this”, but there was still just a chair, a knee, a thought, a lamp, a nose. The experiential “show” or display was the same: there was no change in perspective. More importantly, it was no longer possible to recognize or generate a “me”. While for some this shift can be disruptive or even scary, my natural response was to laugh at how simple it was and how long it took to see what had always been in plain sight.
While the sense of boundaries had been fading all along, all perceived boundaries finally fell for good. Rather than there being a “me” that was concurrent with all else or “one with everything”, there simply wasn’t any sort of division at all. Room, knee, thought and all else were on the same experiential stage. Up to that point, I had thought in terms of mistakenly identifying with experience, thus the subtle belief that someone was doing that identification. However, it was really a matter of mistakenly identifying as experience and the everyday recognizing of this or that.
Without any sense of “me” or “I”, there was no longer what is generally called reflexive consciousness or self-awareness that is usually required for meditation and introspection. For example, when we look for a “self”, or reflect on how or why we feel the way we do about something, reflexive consciousness is used. After this shift, there was no longer the sense of referring back to anything or anyone, what I once heard described as looking for a “second opinion” on what is happening. Put another way, there was no longer any sense of “in here” or “out there”, or of “consciousness” or an “object of consciousness”, but rather a continual sense of a display or show of “just what is happening”. The Bāhiya Sutta’s “in the seen/heard, just the seen/heard” is a succinct teaching in this regard, especially the punch line that “in all that, there’s no you.” It’s not nihilism, wherein there is nothing being seen or heard; rather, within experience, there is simply no self or person at all, even though (what is referred to as) seeing and hearing are happening.
It seemed as if someone had walked around with a video camera at my home, place of work, around my neighborhood, and so forth in order to create a montage of all the sights and sounds of my everyday life. If I were to then sit and watch the video, everything and everyone would be there, but there would also be the knowledge that it wasn’t me who saw and heard all of that: it was just seen and heard. Thus, when all sense of identity fully drops away, everything but an inferred “me” is still seen and heard as temporary thoughts and appearances. The indeterminate, temporary notion of a “body” walking across the street, or a “me” that nominally corresponds to that pronoun , is still available, very handy for navigating daily life, but there is no longer the sense that it is any more or less significant than any other temporary designation such as a “tree”. I also noticed that there was what might be called a more natural three-dimensional aspect to experience, indicating that what previously seemed like a flat, two-dimensional display was artificial.
One might suppose that we must need at least a nominal or empirical sense of a “self” to get on with daily life, help others, etc. However, this sort of conceptual overlay simply isn’t needed. Just as we intuitively know how to get on with life once the illusion of a separate or personal “self” falls at the first fetter, we can function just fine without any sort of “me” or “self” at all. In a way, we keep peeling off layer after layer of “me”, realizing we never needed the one that just disappeared, until they’re all gone. While navigating through a crowd or helping someone with a task, we can watch what is ostensibly our right hand do this and that, but without the notion that it is attached to or part of anyone or anything: “in the hand, just the hand”.
As a result, interactions with others became very immediate, not just “leaning into” conversations and relationships, but no longer having any sense of referring to or retreating into thought, or of being anywhere else than right there with them. There was no interiority to seek out, or to rest or hide in: thoughts and memories came and went on the same stage as the other person, as it were. Thus, rather than the complete evaporation of the “self” leading to an alienation or withdrawal from other people and situations, it was just the opposite. A certain boldness arose, wherein whatever seemed like it needed to be said or done in a given situation was simply said or done. What previously would have felt like taking a sizable risk was just getting on with whatever was at hand.
There was still the inclination to get up early every morning to meditate; in fact, there was an increased inclination to do so, and I could almost immediately enter into the “empty abiding” if I chose. However, since there was no longer a noticeable change of perspective upon meditating, there was no longer a difference between meditation and non-meditation,or between meditation one meditator.
This was a decidedly more stable and conclusive juncture than any other step along the path had been. There was no longer a sense of striving or mystery, but rather a confidence that whatever further experiential shifts might happen would be just as straightforward. A fundamental sense of joy and equanimity settled in: not the exuberant joy that accompanies the high points of life’s roller coaster rides, but more of a baseline positivity that has been unshakable.