Heart, So Close, Yet So Far: A Story of Spiritual Awakening

Forward and Breaking Dawn

Two souls, alas, exist in my breast, 

One separated from another: 

One, with its crude love of life, just 

Clings to the world, tenaciously, grips tight,

The other soars powerfully above the dust, 

Into the far ancestral height.

—Faust by Johann Wolfgang von. Goethe 

"I pour my heart into all I do, yet feel as though I've achieved nothing, as if there's nothing I can truly be proud of. I strive to grow, to push beyond, step out of my comfort zone, break through limits, surpass myself, yet all in vain." I told my mother.

"Through life’s long journey, I’ve been searching madly for answers and a way out, but I feel trapped. I fight and I push, yet I am going nowhere. Each step I take only makes me more dreary. As if lost in a massive labyrinth, turning in circles… I don’t see myself as a failure—but after setback upon setback, the weight of defeat has contributed to my distress—a conditioned response. The despair grows and haunts me like a shadowy ghost."

My mother guides me deeper into a meditative state using eye movement, and I observe the subtle changes in my inner feelings and perceptions. Analyzing myself and dismantling emotions, dissolving the self-imposed beliefs and emotions that held me back—the mad emptiness, loneliness, and resentment that churned in my stomach when I was denied or misunderstood. Longing to be soft and fluid like water rather than rigid steel inadvertently hurts others.

"A deep sense of powerlessness inside me, a silent belief that if I don’t meet the standard, I’ll see myself as a failure," I said, moving my fingers rapidly in front of my eyes simultaneously. But as the motion continued, the feeling of powerlessness blurred, and I realized that the sense of failure was merely a thought.

It felt as though a "self" was starting to dissolve... "If I continue with the eye movement, the 'self' will disappear..."

My mother asked, "The 'self' is dissolving?"

"Yes, it feels like the old 'me' is about to vanish, like ice melting into water... The self is dissolving, and the perceptions associated with the self are gradually fading away..."

After a while, I continued the eye movement, feeling like I was waving goodbye to myself, like bidding farewell before death. The self was about to disappear, and there was a sense of reluctance, as if I were parting from a good old friend.

Moments later, I said, "The self seems to have vanished; only the present 'me' remains."

This wasn't the first time I'd experienced something similar. In previous meditations, I had felt my body burning like embers, starting with my limbs, turning to ash and cooling down, until my entire body had burned away and left in a void. Eventually, the boundary of my body disappeared. The body is merely a perception, no longer representing the real me. I lay on my bed, observing the phenomenon unfold. My consciousness lost its sense of boundaries, merging with everything around me. “I” became the bed, the room, the furniture. “I” am expanding, becoming the infinite stretch of time and space. There was no longer a distinction between you, me, or others. I was everything, and everything was me. Consciousness is both immense and minuscule, the size of a speck of dust and the vastness of the universe. There was no past, no future—only the present moment.

Each spiritual experience drew me deeper into understanding, yet over time, I realized that no matter how profound these experiences were, they did not bring liberation and had nothing to do with awakening. About a year earlier, I had another experience as though I had pierced a thin, transparent membrane, stepping into an entirely new paradigm—as if I had crossed into another celestial realm. The vividness of the experience offered deep insight, and at the time, I thought the journey had reached its end. 

However, months later, I realized I was still adhering to the same patterns of thinking and behavior. Although the self had dissolved this time, the experience felt distinctly different, yet doubt lingered. How was this experience any different from the previous ones? Was it merely another spiritual experience? I had no certainty, no resolution.

No Way Out

I change too quickly: my today refutes my yesterday. When I ascend I often jump over steps, and no step forgives me that. 

When I am aloft, I always find myself alone. No one speaks to me, the frost of solitude makes me tremble. What do I want in the heights? 

My contempt and my desire increase together; the higher I climb, the more do I despise him who climbs. What do I want in the heights? 

How ashamed I am of my climbing and stumbling! How I scorn my violent panting! How I hate the man who can fly! How weary I am in the heights!

Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche (Part I. Chapter 8. The Tree on the Mountainside)

From a young age, I was deeply immersed in a wide variety of studies. In middle school, I followed in my mother’s footsteps, engaging in spiritual practices—meditation, chanting, and Buddhist prostrations—while observing her as she practiced various exoteric and tantric Buddhist rituals. I also participated in church activities and attended spiritual workshops. Yet, despite all these efforts, none of them could quench my spiritual thirst. The harder I sought fulfillment, the more ferocious the emptiness grew—like drinking saltwater, only to become thirstier.

​​My university years marked the onset of true loneliness. True loneliness isn’t about being physically solitary but being surrounded by people without finding a single soul you can truly connect with. Standing on the bustling streets of New York City, engulfed by crowds, feeling no spot for solid footing and a lack of direction—no place for my soul to belong. For reasons I couldn’t explain, this unbearable emptiness, this maddening void, accompanied me for over a decade.

I had no desire to become a lone wolf, isolated and on my own, yet senseless conversations felt like a tasteless meal or breathing thin air that left me gasping. My energy drained away. In this expansive world, I felt like an outsider, endlessly drifting along its edges, never finding a place to call my own. Amidst the lively crowds, I found no sense of belonging. The constant hustle only deepened my sense of alienation and amplified the emptiness within.

The long, fruitless search left me both mentally and physically exhausted. How much further must I trek before I finally reach the end? How many tears must I shed to cease the crying? Dragging my weary body forward, I questioned what I was searching for in this lonely quest. In a hypnosis session, I felt like a child abandoned in a vast sea of humanity—left forsaken, helpless, and engulfed by waves of sorrow, powerlessness, and loneliness. The tears flowed like an unrelenting fountain.

To be honest, it wasn’t so much about seeking truth or reality as it was about the deep, inexplicable uneasiness and restlessness within me, driving a yearning for liberation. It wasn’t hardship that brought this on—far from it—but my heart cried out that there had to be more to life than just this. That nagging feeling propelled me forward. The sense of aimlessness and adrift is like an incessant, obnoxious fly buzzing relentlessly around my ears, hovering close, landing mockingly on my face, rubbing its legs in triumph. It was maddening, yet I was powerless to swat it away. It seemed that the only way to find peace was to eradicate it entirely.

I once imagined finding an easy path—one that would allow me to forget all my inner conflicts and turmoil, immerse myself in bliss, and become what others considered a ‘normal’ person. But I couldn’t pretend or deceive myself. I couldn’t close my eyes, block my ears, and live blindly, sweeping things under the rug. While lonely ones danced around the blazing fires of revelry, I felt no warmth, only a deep, chilling cold. The air was thick with a suffocating emptiness.

My restless heart stirred, my blood boiled, as if only by tearing apart the self could I find freedom. There was no path to take, no place to go. It was like I had contracted a strange, incurable illness—no painkillers could alleviate the pain, a chronic condition with no relief, leaving me with no choice but to embark on a lonely, seldom-traveled path in search of a cure.

Lost of Self, Found of Liberation

Spring flowers, autumn moon,

Summer breeze, winter snow.

When no triviality clouds the mind,

it’s the season of pure delight.

–The Gateless Gate of Chan

Walking the long spiritual path, at times, I wade through rushing streams, cautiously feeling for stones beneath to guide my steps. At others, I push through tangled thickets. How long will this journey take? The path, stretching endlessly and devoid of direction, stirs a deep despair. Fortunately, my mother walked before me steadfastly, leading me forward with unwavering persistence. With each step, the path became clearer, my footing more certain, and my heart grew lighter. Though doubt and uncertainty remained in my mind, each moment of revelation brought tears of joy. Each surge of clarity jolted me, knowing I had broken through once again—moving another step forward, closer to the destination.

The noisy hum of thoughts in my mind was like the ceaseless rumble of an old air conditioner—so constant that I had grown used to it, unaware. At the moment thoughts fell silent, I was awestruck by how incredibly quiet and peaceful my mind could be.

Though the experience of self-dissolution was apparent, yet subtle changes at first, I remained unsure of where I was. It wasn’t until months later, as a series of events unfolded, that I realized old habits had crumbled away and my thought patterns had undergone a remarkable shift. In ways, it was a transformation unlike anything I had experienced in the past few decades, like shedding a layer of old skin—and finally, it dawned on me—I had crossed over the finish line. Perhaps I had snapped the last thread of illusion and dropped the last straw that broke the camel’s back. After a long journey of searching, I had reached the end, and the search itself came to an end.

At first, it was like a rocket launching into space, breaking through the atmosphere, and entering the stillness of weightlessness, floating. Beliefs and the framework of thinking, like gravity, tugged at me, but as I broke free from that gravitational pull, I felt free, clear, and unburdened. The inertia of my thinking pattern gradually loosened. I felt like a satellite entered a new orbit. After several months, even the orbit disappeared, leaving me in a weightless state, in the effortless, natural flow and alignment with the universe. 

In the past, I remained vigilant of rising thoughts, practicing letting go or non-attachment to avoid being swept away by emotions. Now, as the “self” loosened its grip, many deeply ingrained habits gradually faded away. Though some tendencies and troubling thoughts occasionally surfaced, they were easily dissolving, like mist dissolving beneath the warmth of the morning sun. 

Beliefs and frameworks are mere projections, like vibrant bubbles floating in space. Yet, when each bubble bursts, it reveals that the vibrant, kaleidoscopic illusion rests on nothing but a fragile, thin film. In that moment, all returns to emptiness, the true nature of the self—the natural state.

As old habits faded, the roles I once played began to blur, and I realized that much of my thinking and behavior was not truly my own. Many patterns were dictated by biological mechanisms and genetic programming, like a dog instinctively chasing a squirrel across the lawn—an unconscious, automatic response.

Some habits were buried deep, particularly personality traits or long-forgotten memories. These latent tendencies would resurface from time to time, much like a persistent hiccup that refuses to subside, that quietly influences my thinking and actions. 

It wasn’t until the following March that I truly grasped the meaning behind the Chan patriarch Bodhidharma’s words: “meditation in sitting, standing, walking, and lying down” (行住坐臥皆禪定). Previously, this state of awareness existed only during meditation, a fleeting experience. But gradually seeping into my waking consciousness and permeating all cognitive activities. Layers of self-identity, personal beliefs, and thought patterns, like a dense fog, had long obscured my perception. As that fog lifted, light shone through, illuminating everything around me and revealing the true nature of things, and intuition emerged naturally and effortlessly.

To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what triggered this major shift in my thought patterns, setting off a domino effect. The dismantling of the framework of self and dropping of beliefs seemed to alter the brain's functioning in profound ways. Perhaps it was the dissolution of old thought patterns and the weakening of reflexive, reactive behaviors. With the mental clutter cleared away, intuition flowed more freely, and my mind became a blank canvas—open, receptive to new creation.

In comparison, the awareness I once experienced in meditation felt like touching the world through a thin glove or viewing it through a pane of tainted glass. But after crossing over, the glass shattered. The barrier was gone, and I could now touch the essence of things directly—like inhaling the fresh fragrance of flowers or feeling a gentle breeze brush against my face—an intriguing feeling. 

The mind, once dominating every thought and decision, has gradually receded into the background. Though it still plays an indispensable role in logical reasoning and communication with the outside world, it is no longer the master—merely a useful tool when needed. The 'I think' mode of operation has weakened. Over the past year, the balance has shifted—from four parts perceiving and six parts linear thinking to a more intuitive state, with eight parts perceiving.

The journey of self-dismantling brought a deep appreciation for Chan/Zen—seeing one’s true nature and detaching from illusions, return to the natural state—but it wasn’t the end of healing. As humans, we remain tethered to our innate temperaments, thought personalities, patterns, habits, memories, and the weight of the past. True liberation, it seems, can only be achieved by breaking free from these shackles, stepping out of the self-imposed prison of thoughts, and reclaiming freedom.

The spiritual journey unfolds in three stages: healing, awakening, and again healing. The first stage of healing involves dismantling the self, peeling away layers of false identity, and gaining a deeper understanding of oneself. It’s about becoming a mentally mature individual, capable of living in harmony with both others and oneself. This is facilitated through healing techniques like eye movement to reduce unwanted emotions, hypnosis to transform cognition and behavior patterns, and meditation to explore the subconscious—ultimately bringing peace to both body and mind.

The second stage is awakening. True liberation is inseparable from awakening—waking up from illusions, shedding layers of beliefs, and seeing our true nature. Recognize that the essence of the self, our true nature, cannot be found outside, but resides within. Like purifying water, once all impurities are removed, it would reveal the water’s natural, original state. There is no other shore, only here. There is no Enlightenment to attain—only a return to the natural state. As you continue dismantling false beliefs, peeling away each layer until nothing remains, sever the final thread of attachment to illusion. You’ll be disengaged from the false reality and return to the true nature of the self—the natural state.

The final stage is a return to healing, releasing lingering habits and freeing the wounds buried deeply in the heart and body.

At times, I lament the script life has written for me—a terrible one—unsure of where the universe is guiding me and what it wants me to do, learn, or offer. Regardless, I may be unable to change the outcome, alter the tides, or redirect the course of immense waves. Embrace the flow and ride the waves, splashing the most beautiful crest.

The translation of the first chapter of Jerry Wu’s book in Chinese.