SPIRITUAL AUTOLYSIS
On average about a year into your cocoon time, based on the many successful results of your first-hand experiences using Robert’s Process, you will know with certainty there is no “out there” out there; that your 3D holographic total immersion movies aren’t real; that your Infinite I is creating all your experiences for you, down to the smallest detail; that you cannot be a victim of anyone or anything at any time; that if you feel any discomfort, it is solely the result of your reactions and responses to your movies, and you can run the Process in a matter of minutes – even seconds sometimes – to locate and let go of any remaining judgments, beliefs, and opinions; and that you live mainly in a state of awe and appreciation for the Game and all the Players you encounter.
That’s a really wonderful place to get to and be; and yet you feel you’re not done, that there is something left to process, that you still have unanswered questions, that you do not yet have the one true answer to “Who Am I?”, that you’re only at the point of mild contentment with your life rather than constant enthusiasm and joy, and that you continue to experience some moments of discomfort from time to time.
Although it produces some excellent results early on, I found Robert’s Process has its limitations. I know of others who reached this point as well. (For a more complete discussion of why, please see Chapter Thirty-Three, “Robert Scheinfeld,” in Part Three of this book.)
Robert’s Process can be very effective when dealing with discomfort that seems to come from “out there,” but it’s not as effective when you have reached the point where there is no longer any thought of “out there” and you are more interested in looking “in here.” That’s because judgments, beliefs, and opinions are only the tip of the iceberg; and once you’ve gotten comfortable and been successful in letting go of them, you’re ready for the next stage of your metamorphosis.
Underneath the judgments, beliefs, and opinions are the fears that led to them and the layers of the ego created as a result – the false self you thought yourself to be – that Robert’s Process simply cannot address.
At least that was true in my case.
* * *
In 2003, still inside the movie theater, I had a car accident which broke eleven bones in my neck and back, and I came within a millimeter of being paralyzed for life. One vertebra in my neck had to be taken out and replaced with a titanium cage, and I then needed six months in bed to recover.
My ex-wife had been married to her new husband about three years by that time, and his mother had also recently come to live with them. But out of their love and caring, and going way beyond any call of duty, they put a hospital bed in their living room and that’s where I spent those six months recovering. Then they bought a travel trailer at their own expense, set it up just a short walk from their house, and moved me in there as soon as I could walk sufficiently to get back and forth, continuing to feed and take care of me for another six months.
During that year, my ex-wife’s new husband became my best friend, and his mother treated me as if I were her son. After fifty-seven years, I finally had the kind of mother I wished for as a child, and a real brother to boot. My ex-wife’s parents, who also lived nearby, were a constant source of love and support as well. What an incredible experience! The car accident was indeed a very special gift from my Infinite I on many levels.
But how do you ever repay someone for that kind of love and caring? I felt such gratitude to my ex-wife and her husband – and to the entire family – and spent the next seven years hoping to find ways to give back even a small percentage of what they had given me. This turned out to be the subject of a series of holographic experiences my Infinite I would create for me once I entered my cocoon.
During our seventeen years together, I had been my ex-wife’s scout and coach, as well as her husband. Part of my relationship to her, part of my ego identity, was to assist her – at her request – in seeing when she had strayed off her own chosen path and help her get back on course.1 Her new husband had, in fact, thanked me profusely many times for the excellent job I had done in this capacity.
Ten years after we separated I was still attached to this ego identity. So about a year and a half into my metamorphosis, when my ex-wife and I suddenly and unexpectedly started to have some communications problems, my ego said it would be a real gift to her and her husband if I once again exercised my identity as her coach and offered my assistance and support – perhaps even a big enough gift to repay their love and generosity. “If I could only get her to see and understand…”
But for the first time ever in our relationship, despite all the evidence I presented, my ex-wife did not agree she had strayed off course. This communication problem lasted about six months while I tried to do what I had done so well for her in the past, with zero success this time. I ran Robert’s Process very early on, leaving me with no discomfort, no emotional or mental upset on my side with her or the situation we were in. I did not blame her or judge her for anything she was saying or doing, and I no longer had any desire to fix her or improve her or change her.
But still I knew something wasn’t “right,” with me; and I needed help, something more than Robert’s Process to find it. So my Infinite I asked Robert Scheinfeld (how ironic and perfect!) to appear in my holographic experience via email and introduce me to Jed McKenna and his Enlightenment Trilogy….
“The external searching is only one part of the story. The other part is the internal part; the slow, painful sloughing away of self, layer by layer, piece by piece.”2
Through this communications problem with my ex-wife, I was ready to tackle some very tough layers of my ego and the fears that created them.
* * *
In Book One of his Enlightenment Trilogy, Jed introduces us to a process he calls “spiritual autolysis.” I’m going to let Jed speak for himself a lot in this chapter and the next, because he says everything so clearly, and there’s no point in my trying to paraphrase….
“Autolysis means self-digestion, and spiritual means, uh. Hell, I don’t really know. Let’s say it means that level of self which encompasses the mental, physical and emotional aspects; your royal I-ness. Put the two words together and you have a process through which you feed yourself, one piece at a time, into the purifying digestive fires…. It’s an unpleasant process…. basically like a Zen koan on steroids. All you really have to do is write the truth…. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Yes, that’s all there is to it.”3
The best description Jed gives of the actual process of spiritual autolysis is during a conversation with a student named Arthur in Book One, Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing…
“Just write down what you know is true, or what you think is true, and keep writing until you’ve come up with something that is true.”
“Pi is the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter,” says Arthur.
“Sure,” I agree. “Start with something as seemingly indisputable as that, and then start examining the foundation upon which that statement is built and just keep following it down until you’ve reached bedrock, something solid, something true.”
“Pi isn’t the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter?” he asks.
“The question presupposes that there’s a circle.”
“There’s not a circle?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Is there?”
“Well, if I draw a circle…”
“I? When did you confirm the existence of an I? Draw? Have you already raced past the part where you confirmed that you are a separate physical being in a physical universe with the ability to perceive, to draw? Have you? If so, we have to switch seats.”
Arthur is thoughtful and silent for several moments. “I guess that’s what you mean by following it down. This is very confusing. I don’t even know where to start.”
“It doesn’t matter where you start, just grab a thread and start pulling. You could start by using Ramana Maharshi’s query, ‘Who am I?’ or ‘What is me?’, and then just work at it. Just try to say something true and keep at it until you do. Write and rewrite. Make it cleaner and cut out the excess and ego and follow it wherever it leads until you’re done.”
“And how long does that usually take?”
“I would think a couple of years. But when you’re done, you’re done.”
“And by done, you mean…?”
“Done.”
“Oh. Is this like journaling? Like keeping a diary?”
“Ah, good question. No. This isn’t about personal awareness or self-exploration. It’s not about feelings or insights. It’s not about personal or spiritual evolution. This is about what you know for sure, about what you are sure you know is true, about what you are that is true. With this process you tear away layer after layer of untruth masquerading as truth. Anytime you go back to read something you wrote, even if it was only yesterday, you should be surprised by how far you’ve come since then. It’s actually a painful and vicious process, somewhat akin to self-mutilation. It creates wounds that will never heal and burns bridges that can never be rebuilt and the only real reason to do it is because you can no longer stand not to.”
He lets that sink in for a few moments. “What’s the reason for writing it down? Why not just do it in your head like with koans?”
“That’s another good question. Yes, koans and mantras are done in your head. Ramana Maharshi’s ‘Who am I?’ query is done in your head. The reason for writing it down on paper or on a computer where you can see it is because the brain, unlikely as it may sound, is no place for serious thinking. Any time you have serious thinking to do, the first step is to get the whole shootin’ match out of your head and set it up someplace where you can walk around it and see it from all sides. Attack, switch sides and counter-attack. You can’t do that while it’s still in your head. Writing it out allows you to act as your own teacher, your own critic, your own opponent. By externalizing your thoughts, you can become your own guru; judging yourself, giving feedback, providing a more objective and elevated perspective.”…
“Does that make Spiritual Autolysis a path of intellect as opposed to a path of heart or a path of devotion or a path of service?”
Ugh. “Frankly, you start losing me a little bit there, Arthur.” He gives me a perplexed look. “I don’t know what all these different paths are, Arthur. Spiritual Autolysis is an intellectual endeavor, but I balk at calling it a path of intellect. It’s a process of discrimination, of unknowing what is untrue, of progressively stripping away the false and leaving only what is true. Discrimination is used in a machete-like manner for hacking one’s way through the dense underbrush of delusion, or, if you prefer, in a swordlike manner for hacking off one’s own delusion-riddled head. Intellect is used as the sword with which ego commits a slow and agonizing suicide; the death of a thousand cuts. Whether that makes it this kind of path or that kind of path doesn’t concern us here; that’s something for a student of paths to worry about. If the question stays with you then it’s something you can address for yourself in the process of Spiritual Autolysis.”4
* * *
This was exactly what I needed to process my current experience with my ex-wife. I needed to see my emotional attachments to her and her husband, especially the tricky ones that seemed so justified by well-earned and well-deserved gratitude. I needed to write down how these attachments were defining who I believed myself to be, and look honestly at the hold my ego had on me as a result. I wanted to find out what was really true about any of this, and spiritual autolysis was a powerful tool in that process.
What I discovered, of course, was that my ego liked this role of being the coach for my ex-wife. It defined my identity, my relationship to her, especially since I was no longer her husband.
In fact, my ego liked being a coach to anyone. It gave me the identity of a teacher, a mentor, a guru of sorts. It also satisfied a belief in helping others, in trying to mitigate their pain and suffering, in offering support by exposing the inconsistencies and contradictions that were making their lives less happy than mine – none of which can ever be true, of course. Isn’t it amazing how arrogant our egos can be, thinking we know what’s best for someone else or how they should live?
It was my ego that wanted me to feel this eternal gratitude to my ex-wife and her husband – without any possibility of ever being able to pay them back – to keep me attached to this identity. That’s the way the ego survives and grows and gains power.
But it was clear the time had come for me to detach from the identity of a coach or mentor or teacher or guru to my ex-wife – and anyone and everyone else – and from the endless gratitude to her and her husband.
Detaching does not automatically mean disconnecting, however; although in this case my ex-wife finally asked that I take her and her husband off my mailing list, which I did, although I hope the disconnection is not permanent or even lengthy.
Detaching means… well, I’ll talk about it in detail in the next chapter. For now, think of the ego like an onion. Detaching is peeling off one of the layers and throwing it away. Or maybe you prefer cutting it up into little pieces, throwing it in a hot pan with some butter, and eating it with great appreciation for the flavor it gives to a hamburger or zucchini. (For more appreciation of the ego, please see Chapter Thirty-One, “The Ego,” in Part Three of this book.)
Originally, I was quite surprised when my “coaching” offers were so adamantly rejected by both my ex-wife and her husband, given our history. Now I am so extremely appreciative to both of them, for it was only through their resistance that I was able to find and let go of these ego layers. What a relief it is not to feel like playing any of those roles any more, and what a gift they gave me once again – although this time I am not bound to the ego by the gratitude.
* * *
There were many fears I discovered as well as I ran Jed’s spiritual autolysis on this incident with my ex-wife and her husband. The bottom line was that I wasn’t enjoying our conversations any more; I wasn’t having fun being involved in her dramas; and I didn’t look forward to listening to him recite conspiracy theories of government concentration camps ready to accommodate millions of Americans. The only reason I kept putting up with it was this endless gratitude.
But I was afraid to let go of her and her husband, even knowing I could never repay them no matter what I did. In addition to feeling I should feel grateful for the rest of my life, there was the fear of how it would look to others if I suddenly put an end to the endless gratitude. I was afraid of what the rest of the family would think. How ungrateful would it seem if one day I said, “You know, I am and will always be very appreciative of you and everything you did for me; but I can never pay you back, and I have to stop trying. That part of my life is over, and I no longer feel joyful or interested – or compelled by gratitude – in walking down the road you seem to be heading at the moment.”
What would my children think? Did I stand the chance of jeopardizing my identity as their father if they disapproved of my behavior with their step-mother?
I was also afraid of losing the mother I had always wanted and just recently found, and the new brother I had come to love. These layers of identity had made up for years of my dysfunctional childhood, and I cherished them.
Finally, and most importantly, I was afraid this was the last chance I would have to get my ex-wife out of the movie theater and into her cocoon, which was the “gift” I had been trying to give her. I still loved her and cared for her, and wanted her to find her way out of the drama and conflict and pain and suffering – the dreamstate she was so clearly still experiencing as a Human Adult. Of course, my ego loved this, feeling secure in its existence as long as I felt responsible for and was focusing on her spiritual evolution instead of my own.
Detachment isn’t always just from the things we don’t want or like, but also from the things we want and love.
* * *
I had to let go of the attachments to all of this, to all the fears that had created layer upon layer of my ego and formed the false belief of who I thought I was: coach, friend, father, brother, son. These were all just “characters” I played – none of which were who I really am at all, all of which are who I am not, in fact.
The fact is that every judgment I ever made in my life has attached me to that experience and formed another layer of my ego, defining who I thought I was. Every belief adopted as a result of these judgments has been false, solidifying and justifying the ego. Every opinion based on those false beliefs will turn out to be in error when viewed from a new perspective of truth.
That’s why our Infinite I gives us the opportunity to revisit, or re-live, those experiences while in the cocoon; to let go of those judgments, beliefs, opinions; to look head-on at the fears and break the attachments that have formed the false identity layers of the ego.
* * *
This is all well and good, you might say, for something as insignificant as a little emotional upset over Betty’s parked car, or a spat with your ex-wife – for the minor drama and conflicts in life. But what about real discomfort? What about physical abuse? What about a rape, domestic violence, divorce, child abuse, war, poverty, starvation, depression, severe illness, and the really difficult experiences of true pain and suffering?
The severity of the discomfort does not matter; the process is exactly the same regardless of the content of the hologram. None of it is real, no matter the intensity, whether it is a minor cut on your finger or a near-fatal car accident. It just seems real – it looks and feels real – and the more emotional or physical pain, the more real it becomes, which means the more power we have assigned to it.
That’s why I suggest starting with Robert’s Process to take the “heat” and the “reality” out of the situation, and then work your way into Jed’s spiritual autolysis, always reminding yourself that the experience has been created by your Infinite I to show you where you assigned power, to give you the opportunity to change how you react and respond, and then decide whether you want to continue living with the fears and the layers of false ego identities.
Yes, it might take a little longer to process the more extreme feelings of discomfort, but the Process itself doesn’t change. It might mean you “reclaim” some power the first time through the Process, but there’s still a lot left to go back and get the next time, or the third time, or the three-hundredth time through the experience. The “good” thing is that each time you run the Process on a particular situation and turn off some of the power associated with it, it gets less intense and therefore a little easier the next time.
Eventually, within a couple years, you will do all of this with ease and excitement, appreciating the experiences of discomfort – if they come up – as an opportunity to locate and process the last remnants of judgment and fear, but living more as a “witness” to your own life.
* * *
In Book Three of his Enlightenment Trilogy, called Spiritual Warfare, Jed mentions “witnessing” in a conversation with a teenage student, Maggie….
“Ultimately, the only spiritual practice is observation; seeing things the way they really are. That’s what Spiritual Autolysis is; a tool to help us do that, to see more clearly, to use our brains the best we can. In witnessing, you want to take a step back from yourself so you’re not just living your life, you’re also observing it. Not in reflection, like a diary, but as it’s happening; in real time. Like right now, I’m sitting here talking with you, but I’m also in this witnessing mode of impartial observer. I am not fully in character, I’m also an audience member. I’m aware that I’m acting on a stage and I am, somewhat disinterestedly, monitoring my performance.”
She looks confused but eager. “How do I do it?” she asks.
“Well, in a way, you’re already doing it, except your witness is kind of unfocused. She’s bored, hungry, aggravated, muffled. You want to bring her into focus, sit her down and have her pay attention.”
“Her? Her who?”
“The little voice in the back of your mind. You know what it’s like when you’re bored, and in the back of your mind you’re thinking about something else? You’re not fully present, your mind is somewhere else; wandering, daydreaming.… Daydreaming is a very good word for it because it suggests that we’re asleep while we’re awake, which is exactly the point. We want to transfer our primary awareness out of the character we’re playing and into the actor that’s playing the character. We want to accentuate that distinction to help us stop blending the character we play with the actor playing the character. We want to take up primary residence in the actor instead of the character we’re portraying. Does that make sense?”
“I don’t know. You mean like being self-conscious all the time?”
“Yes, but in an impartial sense, not in a judgmental sense. When you have internal voices holding imaginary conversations or worrying that you wore the wrong blouse, those are character elements too. The actor can just sit back and watch all that. In this way you can observe yourself just like you observe anyone else, except with a better view.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Of course you can, it just sounds weird.”5
Sounds to me a lot like the Fair Witness in Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, for those of you who know the reference; and as far as I am concerned, witnessing is an advanced process that takes a lot of training and discipline and is probably not suitable for the early stages in a cocoon.
But it’s how you begin to live all the time toward the end of your metamorphosis.…
“There’s nothing to it except observation, awareness, vigilance. Wakefulness. First you learn to do it, to have this detached awareness; you do it consciously, a little at a time, just to get the hang of it. Practice witnessing other people to get the idea. Watch them, wonder about them, deconstruct and reverse-engineer them, then just watch yourself the way you’ve been watching others. Then you start doing it more and more until it becomes second nature and you’re almost always in the witnessing mode and you see your own character from the same impersonal perspective as you see other people.”6