As I delved deeper into these Christian mystics, I was beginning to question in my own mind if I needed to make a path change from Zen Buddhism to Christianity. It had been many years since I’d been to my first Catholic mass, and I decided to go back a second time.

 

A good ritual is meant to evoke the mystery of being, the mystery of our own existence, the mystery of life, the mystery of God. It’s meant to evoke that sense of eternity that shines through the latticework of time and space. That’s really what ritual is for—to put us in touch with that sense of eternity, with the sense of the sacred.

 

And so I was sitting in the back of the church and watching people go through the communion. Reading the mystics, who wrote so eloquently about their own profound experiences, I had felt a deep sense of connection, as if I’d reached back hundreds of years and connected with the living presence of another person. So I had an unconscious expectation that I was going to have the same feeling when I walked into this church and watched the mass. But when the priest started to talk, it was extraordinarily disappointing. He talked about abortion, about how families should be, about intimate issues having to do with sexuality and how you should live your life, and as he talked, I felt that he had taken the presence created by this ritual of communion and thrown it on the floor and stepped on it. I had a sense that he had completely missed the Christian message.

 

As I listened to this priest, all the presence and mystery disappeared from the room and everything returned to the relative world.

 

Jesus said, “I have cast fire upon the world, and see, I am guarding it until it blazes.” GOSPEL OF THOMAS

 

Seeing Jesus through the lens of the spiritual revolutionary is powerfully transformative; if we can embody that spirit within ourselves, we can begin to break down the internal walls that separate ourselves from each other, from the world, and from our own divinity.

 

I think the churches in this country need to be revitalized; they need that challenging presence of Jesus that says, “It’s important that you realize the truth of your being. There are profound consequences to living in darkness.” As Jesus says in the Gospel of Thomas, “If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

 

Spiritual autonomy is knowing who and what you are—knowing that you are divine being itself, knowing that the essence of you is divinity. You are moving in the world of time and space, appearing as a human being, but nonetheless you are eternal, divine being, the timeless breaking through and operating within the world of time. To Jesus, spirit is everything. Nothing matters more than spirit or, as I like to say, divine being. Divine being is what Jesus is here for; it is the vitality source from which he moves, from which he speaks, from which his critique arises. He is the living presence of divine being. He’s a human being too, but he’s here to convey divine being, and that comes out most clearly in the Gospel of Mark.

 

The Gospel of Thomas presents the Kingdom of Heaven as something that exists right here and right now. In fact, it’s all about what’s right here and right now. In it, we find Jesus saying, “The Kingdom of the Father is spread out upon the earth, and men do not see it.”

 

But in the Gospel of Thomas, the whole point of Jesus’ teaching is to discover your true identity, to realize who and what you really and truly are here and now.

 

As Jesus says, “The Kingdom of the Father is spread out upon earth, and men do not see it.”

 

In the Gospel of Thomas, Jesus says, “There is light within a man of light, and he lights up the whole world.”

 

That’s a teaching meant to shake us from our slumber. In order to come into our full potential and to embody the truth and radiance of what we are, we must come vitally alive; we must lean once again into presence; we must pour ourselves forth into life, instead of trying to escape life and avoid its challenges.

 

This calling can arrive at any point in your life. It is that moment when the trajectory of your life begins to turn toward the mystery of life. When I say the mystery of life, what I’m referring to is that transcendent aspect of life that shines through the world of space and time.

 

I didn’t make the calling happen, I couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen, and I couldn’t have turned it off even if I’d wanted to. It was disconcerting. And sure enough, my intuition was true: the entire trajectory of my life had changed at that instant.

 

It’s as if you wake up from the dream of thinking that you’re already awake in your ordinary waking state. When you are spiritually awakened, what you thought was an awake state now seems like a dream.

 

This is what occurs at the very beginning of the Gospel of Mark, when John the Baptist baptizes Jesus in the River of Jordan. “Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the spirit descending on him like a dove.” [Mark 1:10, NIV] When you awaken, when spirit descends, the veil of your dream state is torn apart, and all of a sudden you’re awakened to a new reality.

 

At some point after awakening—sometimes very soon, sometimes not for quite a while—you reach a stage that I call “trials and tribulations.” In the Jesus story, this is symbolized by Jesus’ forty days in the desert and his encounter with Satan in the desert immediately following his baptism. In Buddhism, this stage is mythically portrayed by the image of Buddha sitting under the bodhi tree, assaulted by Maya, the force of illusion. Maya is an impersonal force of illusion, while Satan is a personification of what we think of as evil, but the source of evil is actually illusion, so these are really two different mythic representations of the same experience.

 

The Buddha image shows us abiding tranquility amidst the turning wheel of life.

 

When this unification occurs, there’s a simplicity to life, a deep sense of freedom and essential well-being and also of fearlessness.

 

Where there was abiding tranquility, what awakens now is sense of an extraordinary vitality, of life-force. It’s as if the fullness of your being is radiating, and from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, you feel this very deep and powerful radiance.

 

It’s not your ego that realizes it’s God, but your true essence. It might be more accurate to say God within you realizes it’s God; the radiance realizes that you are the radiance.

 

Relinquishment is what spiritual teachers mean when they say, “die before you die.”

 

The very last phase of spiritual awakening is what I call “the transmutation.” Transmutation is what transfiguration and relinquishment make possible. In it, your orientation to life is entirely selfless. It’s not that you want to be selfless or you’re practicing being selfless: rather you’re selfless in the sense of no self.

 

Imagine if you took it on in yourself to reorient your life trajectory toward your divinity. Your divinity: I so loved the world, that I gave it all of myself.

 

The truth, I would suggest, is that you poured yourself willingly into form out of infinite love in order to redeem the entirety of this life. When seen from that perspective, all of a sudden life looks very different. You stop holding back from life, your inner life or the life around you, because the kingdom of heaven is within and all around you. That’s the message of the Jesus story.

 

Jesus said, “Blessed is he who came into being before he came into being.”

 

The heavenly state is the context of eternity in which the world resides.

 

This is what the virgin birth signifies: time and space being opened up and eternity being embodied as a human being. This is you and I, yet we don’t know it. We are eternal, divine beings manifested here and now in our humanity as a particular human being. Our human form comes from the pairs of opposites. The body that feels, the mind that thinks—all this comes from the pairs of opposites. Your mother and father got together and produced a baby, a beautiful, incarnated being, and that being is filled and animated by the vitality of divine being. That is the beauty of what the virgin birth signifies if you can read the metaphor.

 

It’s good to be reminded that hubris, left unchecked, can have serious consequences in our lives. If we don’t notice soon enough, we might just realize too late that we’ve lost some very important things in our lives. The beauty of this story is that it reminds us: keep your feet firmly planted on the soil, keep your consciousness and your heart open, and stay available to this relative world and all the human beings within it.

 

In the original Greek, one of the meanings of sin [hamartia] is simply “to miss the mark.” Now, imagine you’ve gone to confession, and the priest says to you, “Confess your sins.” Imagine that this priest even accuses you of being a sinner; imagine how that would feel in your mind and heart, to be considered a moral failure. Now imagine instead how you’d feel if that priest were to say, “So, tell me, how have you missed the mark in your life?” There’s an enormous difference in how these two interpretations of sin are held in our hearts, in our minds, in our bodies. If we understand that sin means to miss the mark, it’s not so personal and damning.

 

The very root of sin, to use Jesus’ language, is something that can be forgiven. It’s forgivable because it’s an unconscious act, a result of being spiritually asleep. We can’t be blamed for being unconscious, for acting out our unconsciousness, even for feeling the effects of our unconsciousness within our psychology.

 

Unfortunately, when we turn to religion, often the churches box us in even more. They tell us that we are inherently flawed, that we need to be forgiven for this sin, this stain that we carry. The first and most important function of religion is to connect you with the mystery of life and the mystery of your own being. When religion fails to do this, it has betrayed its primary mission, and all we are left with is dogma and belief.

 

But Jesus never defines what someone must have faith in; he doesn’t say “your faith in me has healed you.” Rather, it’s faith itself, the trust in things unseen that heals.

 

Jesus said: “I am the light above everything. I am everything. Everything came forth from me, and everything reached me.” [Gospel of Thomas 77] Now, that’s as clearly as the enlightened state can be put into words. I am the light of everything, the light of divine being, the light of consciousness. I am what lights up the world, I am what sees the world, and that seeing, that consciousness is actually what gives rise to the world. In some spiritual traditions, just to be the divine, eternal witness of all of life is enough; it’s the goal. But in the spirituality of Jesus, that’s not the goal. He doesn’t say only, “I am the light above everything,” but “I am everything; everything came forth from me.”

 

The ending of Jesus’ life in John is completely different than in Mark. In Mark, Jesus’ last breath was a loud death cry from exhaustion and torment. In the Gospel of John, Jesus right to the very end maintains his dignity and balance, and remains centered in divine being. With his last breath, Jesus simply says, “It is finished.” Jesus has lived out his destiny; he’s played his part well, and he has no regrets.

 

From that place, the only thing left to do is to be a benevolent presence in the world. I don’t say this because one wants to do it or tries to do it. All attempts to be spiritual or pure or compassionate or loving, all of that striving is just what the ego or self tries to do or to be. But when all that falls away, there’s literally nothing left to do; there’s no life orientation that makes sense other than to be a selfless and benevolent presence. This may happen on a big stage, but it may just mean being a benevolent grandmother or a mother or daughter or son or business owner. It doesn’t have to look any particular way, and in fact the resurrected state can actually look quite normal.

 

One’s whole sense of passion and of drive belongs to the self, to the ego, even when it’s very positive or for the benefit of all beings. It’s very hard to convey what moves you when all of that is gone. It comes from a place that is very, very simple. In the Zen tradition, they say, when you’re hungry you eat, and when you’re tired you sleep. That doesn’t sound very exciting, but it’s pointing to the simplicity of a life no longer driven by the inner forces of desire and aversion—by wanting to accomplish, or to escape, or even to convey something.

 

There’s just a simple, profound intimacy with all things, and with all beings, and with that which transcends all things and all beings. Life is experienced in all of its original completeness and unity.

 

There exists only the present instant … a Now which always and without end is itself new. MEISTER ECKHART