Realization happens in a way that’s different from what we expect. There’s an expectation that once there is realization, there will be bliss, stability, peace, happiness—walking on clouds. But it isn’t quite like that.
What is possible is that, as we become more familiar with functioning from effortless being, the way we experience the frequency of human experience is refined or transformed. Many people prior to realization experience huge fluctuations. Those polarities are often reinforced.
For example, people taking alcohol or drugs create a swinging pendulum. Friday night comes along, and they’re feeling euphoric—they know they’re going to get their hit and feel really high. Then they have about 48 hours of coming down. By Monday morning, there’s a big thundercloud over them. Then the pendulum swings again toward Friday night. Lots of people live in that polarity.
What I’ve found is that many professional people—doctors, lawyers, accountants—who rely heavily on the intellect tend to be more in that dualistic mode of experience than those involved in more creative fields, where they’re not as dependent on the intellect. The intellect can make life seem mundane. When we’re programmed into logic, the humor goes out of things, and it becomes about trying to get relief from that. So dependency on things like alcohol or drugs can be more acute in people who rely heavily on intellect. The integration process unfolds following realization. The mental and emotional programs that maintain these polarities—the ups and downs of life—begin to subside. The Friday night euphoria versus Monday morning depression starts to even out.
We’re no longer dependent on the highs, so we’re not seeking heightened experiences, whether spiritual or otherwise. At the same time, we stop accepting the invitation into the lows. Different mind programs—perhaps conditioned through DNA—create turbulence, but we learn to decline those invitations.
As a result, more stability emerges. The need for highs and lows evens out, creating a sense of equanimity. Within that equanimity, more subtle qualities like bliss can arise. There tends to be a steady frequency—a quiet joy.
You might be invited to a party or have to identify a friend at a funeral, but internally there isn’t a dramatic difference in how you feel. There’s stability in functioning and a recognition of contrasts without being pulled into them.
It’s similar to how children experience toys. A child sees big differences—“this is my best toy, this is my worst toy.” But to a parent, they’re all just toys. In the same way, people often grade their experiences—“this is fantastic,” like going out drinking and having a great time, versus the opposite experience. But from this more stable state, those distinctions lose their intensity. Functioning from our true nature brings a natural stability and a natural joy. There’s no need to swing between attachment and aversion. The integration process allows us to become less dependent on external things.
Much of our programming suggests that happiness depends on material objects. But acquiring material things works a bit like a joke. When someone focuses intensely on getting something—a new car, for example—there’s a lot of mental effort involved in trying to achieve it. It seems like getting the car will bring happiness.
But once the car is bought and sitting in the driveway, there’s a moment of joy. Most people think it’s because they now have the car, but it’s actually because the intensity of striving has fallen away. The joy comes not from having the car, but from the absence of the effort that was required to obtain it. In that moment, the body of bliss becomes more accessible in experience.
It comes down to removing our programming. Let’s explore this more at our next online event…
With love,
David Bingahm
