CHAPTER 1
EFFORTLESS BEING
Effortless being is the sublime presence that suffuses all fragrances of grace. It is whole, free, and completely at ease – and it requires nothing.
Just let yourself relax ... trust ... open ... and gracefully fall into effortless being.
Let's begin our journey together with "effortless being," as it is the one quality of grace that is intrinsic to and inherent in all aspects of the infinite. Any time you open into the infinite presence of your own self, an effortless presence will have easily and gracefully guided you there. In fact, the only route I know of into enlightened awareness is through effortless being.
So why not plunge in right now? Rather than talk about it, let's experience it directly.
Take a deep breath in, and let it out.
And another deep breath in, and let it out.
Let your whole being relax as you fully put yourself into the scene I am about to describe. As you read, experience it as if it is actually happening right now. Take time in between the sentences to open and feel what it would really be like to be in these circumstances. Just imagine that you are the person described in this story:
You are in the ocean, out of your depth, struggling to stay afloat. The more you struggle, the less buoyant you feel. Each effort becomes more and more exhausting. Fighting what is, you believe the answer lies in trying harder ... reaching, grasping with your whole being, striving with your body, harnessing your mind, trying to focus all of your energy to stay above water — you fight for your life. Your activity becomes frenetic. A sinking futility starts to creep in, but you realize you can't give in, no matter what. You force your mind into high gear. You struggle with all your might. Your striving becomes frantic.
A kind person throws you a life preserver, but it lands just out of reach. Safety is but a few feet away, if only you could grasp it in time. Certain that effort is the only answer, you harness every fiber of your being, desperately trying to grasp the answer to all your prayers, knowing that peace, rest, life itself is just an arm's length away ... just out of reach. If only you try harder, the prize of safety, relaxation, freedom will be yours.
But with each fiercely desperate stroke you end up pushing the life preserver farther away. The fight intensifies. You feel your mind starting to spin out of control. You force it into line — everything depends on this final struggle, but your very striving is driving it farther ... and farther ... and farther away ...
Finally, the kind stranger jumps into the water, and when he bobs to the surface, all movement ceases. He appears motionless ... as if he is just resting, trusting. Gently, under the surface, his legs flow in the quietest of movements ... effortlessly treading water, trusting completely in the ease of grace. As the water becomes still around him, the life preserver freely drifts his way ... lap ... by lap ... by lap. The life preserver finds its way into his relaxed and trusting hands, and with almost no movement — more a softly whispered prayer than an actual motion — he glides it your way.
Still frantic, you grasp for it desperately, but your motion only causes it to drift out of reach again. The desperation becomes unbearable ...
You hear a reassuring voice say, "Relax. Just relax. Trust ... You're safe ... All safety is here ... Everything you need is already here." Then, once again, the kind man who trusts the ocean, trusts grace, softly floats the life preserver in your direction.
As the preserver gets closer, the desire to reach for it becomes fiercely strong. But before you can thrust out your hand, you hear the stranger say again, "Just relax."
And something penetrates: it happens in a heartbeat. Against all instincts and conditioning, against everything you believe to be true, you choose to cease striving. You relax. You relax your mind. You give up all struggle and relax your whole being. You feel your body softening and, miraculously, the life preserver begins to effortlessly drift your way.
Then, just before it's ready to softly touch your chest, something happens. Time stops. Everything becomes still. Your breathing slows and becomes easy. Your mind softens, every ounce of activity ceases, and your body releases all tension. You become aware that you are being gently supported, embraced in an ocean of trust. In the still center of the silence, you realize all grace is here, surrounding you, supporting you. All peace is here ... and you relax deeply in the restful embrace of grace.
You become aware that the life preserver has just tapped you on the chest, and in that instant you realize you don't actually need it. You never needed it. You're already safe, already whole, already free. You're floating in an ocean of trust.
Gently, one arm floats to the side of the preserver, and you look around to see if anyone else is struggling needlessly in the water ... and you become the kind stranger.
A soft smile of irony creeps across your face as you realize the ludicrous insanity of struggling against life. It's like some big cosmic joke. You recognize that everything you seek is already here the moment you choose to stop the struggle, relax, and trust. This that had seemed so far out of reach is realized to be everywhere, in everything. And that "something out there, if only I could get hold of it" is realized to be right here, as a vast embrace, constantly supporting you in an ocean of presence.
* * *
And so it is with grace. The more you struggle, strive, fight, reach, grasp, or force your mind, the further away you push the very peace you are seeking. And the moment you stop, soften the mind, relax your body, cease striving, give up the struggle, the peace you are seeking is directly experienced to be here as a spacious presence of effortless being.
The very nature of grace is effortless ease. It is already whole, complete, free, vast, and open. It intrinsically knows how to care for every aspect of our lives. It knows the right action in each moment, and it is always in flow. Like a river flowing over water-smoothed rocks, it has a natural ease. Grace is simultaneously supremely restful and scintillatingly alive: it loves to give birth to creation. Yet no one is doing the doing, or "flowing the flow." Grace just is. There is no "somebody" who controls, manages, and directs its natural momentum. With effortless ease, it simply flows through life.
As children, so often we heard, "Try to do your best." And our focus went to the trying. We struggled, we strived, we fought. Had we instead been told, "Relax little one — you are already whole and perfect, and there is a huge potential that is longing to create through you — just relax," we would have relaxed, opened, and allowed our genius, creativity, and love to shine. We would have opened innocently and allowed our wisdom to arise naturally, and we would have been delighted to simply be part of the process of creation.
Unfortunately, most of us became conditioned to the idea that struggling is good and makes us strong, and we feel guilty if we take even a few spare moments to relax. But ironically, it is only when we completely let go into full relaxation that true genius and creativity become available.
Have you ever tried to remember someone's name, and yet for all your efforts, it remained on the edge of your awareness, just out of reach? And no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't come up with the name? Do you remember what happened next? You eventually gave up the struggle, relaxed, and stopped reaching desperately with your mind — and of course, moments later, with your mind now totally at ease, the name unexpectedly popped into your awareness.
So it is with grace. If you force yourself to meditate, setting your mind into a certain groove, focusing on an object, concentrating on words, or repeating mantras, your very efforting will keep away the peace you are seeking. Yet when you just relax, become aware of all sounds, have no purpose other than to close your eyes and "just be" — not caring whether thoughts come or go through consciousness, and letting yourself naturally glide into a spacious awareness — you will find yourself soaking deeply in a restful ocean of healing presence. Then, when thoughts come through, you will find that the stillness remains untouched.
The moment you grasp or grab onto a thought to try to interpret it or understand its significance, all awareness of the ocean drops into the background and your whole being goes to the thought. It's only when you choose to stop reaching to analyze the constructs of the mind that you find yourself falling again ... back into the ocean — the ocean of effortless being. All struggle, striving, efforting only takes you away. All letting go, opening, accepting, trusting allows you to fall deeper and deeper into the embrace.
Cease all activity and just rest.
Any effort made in meditation just pushes grace away. Indeed, this is true of all life.
* * *
I remember once when I was working with my grandfather in his workshop. Grandpa had a PhD in physics, and he loved to invent things, designing his own creations and bringing them to life with his hands.
I was twenty-three, and I wanted to make a very special Christmas present for my husband. He loved the game of backgammon, and so I went to Grandpa and explained my vision: I had bought some gorgeous fabric from Liberty's in London, and I wanted to use it to build a backgammon set that would allow the beauty of the cloth to be seen. I would have liked to make a glass box, but as that was virtually impossible to manufacture, not to mention impractical to use, I decided to use transparent Perspex. Grandpa always loved a challenge, and he researched the various types of Perspex.
Eventually, he decided the best kind for us was a special brittle version that wouldn't crack or scratch as easily as other types, but he warned me it would have to be handled "with kid gloves."
We spent an afternoon together designing the box, figuring out how to marry the joints so it would be strong and useable, and when the special order Perspex finally arrived, we went down to his workshop to begin constructing it.
Grandpa first bent the Perspex, checking its flexibility and brittleness — to determine its breaking point. He had chosen three different types of saws that he thought would best penetrate the material. After several breaks and misapplied pressure, he scored a perfect line, then he gently slotted in a saw, creating the finest of grooves, and perfectly cleaved off a piece.
It looked so easy.
Not wanting to make me feel self-conscious, he casually said, "Okay, I'll leave you to it and go upstairs to see how your grandmother is getting on."
Carefully, I scored the edge, and slowly I lifted the cutting saw. Like Grandpa, I tried to gain purchase with the right angle, but "snap," the Perspex cracked in two.
I took a deep breath. This type of Perspex was expensive and hard to get. I willed myself to get it right: "Okay, this time I'll try harder. This time I need to focus my mind, steady my hand. I will do it right this time."
I held my breath. I scored the Perspex. I steadied my hand and began to saw. It wasn't working. I pushed harder.
"Snap!" Another piece broke in two.
Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn't afford to lose another piece. I mustered all my concentration, all my will, but once again, "snap!"
My head started spinning. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I wiped them with the sleeve of my shirt, and with a red nose and a set jaw I went upstairs to Grandpa and admitted that I'd blown it. I just couldn't get it right, no matter how hard I tried.
Grandpa smiled reassuringly. "It's only plastic, dear. We can order some more."
"But Grandpa, you made it look so easy."
"Well, why don't we go back down and see what we can cobble together? Maybe I can fix the Perspex — melt it with my torch, sand it, buff it, glue it. Perhaps the crack won't even show. Let's see."
Downstairs, he looked at my botch job and said, "Show me how you're cutting it, dear."
I scored a clean piece, gained purchase with my saw, and just as I began to work it, the Perspex snapped in two again.
Grandpa said, "Brandon, look me in the eyes. Do you see how quiet I become before I even pick up an instrument? Now, look how it floats in my hand. You need to think of this saw as if it's a feather that you're stroking through water ... softly, easily, effortlessly ... Like this."
This burly mountain of a man held the saw delicately, as if it was made of air. He scored a piece with the lightness of a gentle caress and glided the saw gracefully through the plastic. It looked impossible, but the less effort he used, the deeper and freer his movement was. He took my hand and held it, as if holding a small bird. "Like this, Brandon. Less is more. Just let it slide ... no pushing, striving. Just let it find its own way. Let the Perspex teach you how deep, how fast."
And so it did. And as I effortlessly surrendered into letting it teach me, an exquisite Perspex cabinet box brought itself into being.
It's now nearly thirty years since I discovered the power of effortless being with my grandfather, and in all this time I've never seen a more beautiful backgammon set — ever.
* * *
The power and presence of effortless being actually revealed itself much earlier in my life. I frequently had glimpses or tastes of it, but they were fleeting and mostly passed through awareness unrecognized. Then, when I was twenty-two, I had a very strong taste. I was newly married, and as a wedding gift, my husband gave me the realization of one of my personal dreams. For our first honeymoon night he bought us hugely coveted box seat tickets to a purportedly spectacular performance at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City of the ballet Romeo and Juliet, with Rudolph Nureyev as the featured dancer. People had purchased tickets over six months ahead to score a prized seat at what was to be an extraordinary event.
I will never forget that night. It was pure magic. Rudolph danced sublimely, constantly taking our breath away and moving in an exquisite flow of grace. Then, during one of his solos, something unexplainable happened. He seemed to be falling into some glorious reverie as he spun, turned, and pirouetted across the vast open stage. Just as he was preparing to leap into the air, it felt like time stopped for a fraction of a second. We all felt it, and the entire audience drew in a deep breath together as everything seemed to come to a complete standstill. Like a great, invisible mantle, all of Rudolph's hard-earned skill and expertise seemed to fall away, and when he leapt into the air, it was as if somehow he had been set entirely free: free to soar like a bird. His strong, athletic body seemed to be made of air as he completely abandoned himself into an effortless grace. For an instant it seemed he was actually floating, and then the impossible happened. His legs reached out, as if expanding like wings, and somehow he lifted infinitesimally higher.
Everyone gasped; my hair stood on end as an unexplainable but palpable thrill coursed through the audience. The leap seemed to go on endlessly — it seemed timeless. Wordlessly, we all experienced it together. One person effortlessly and completely opened into infinite being, and we all caught it, felt it ripple through. We tasted the opening.
At the end of Rudolph's performance, the hall became a din of endless cheering, applauding, faces streaming with tears. We could not seem to adequately express our gratitude. We were bursting with joy, and our tribute went on for forty-five minutes — all because we'd been given just a taste of effortless grace.
Truly, it's when we put aside all of our knowing, all of our conditioning, all of our hard work, and cast off all that we think we've learned that effortless being is revealed. When we courageously throw off our whole invisible mantle of "the known" — and it's a heavy mantle to carry — that is when we fall innocently into effortless being.
Effortless grace is always here, always available, always surrounding and infusing us. Indeed, it is our very essence. And it is easily revealed when we choose to let go of our ideas of how things should be and open into the innocence of the unknown.
