The spiritual teaching that did help me the most as a seeker was the Tibetan school of thought called Dzogchen, which literally translates to The Great Perfection. Dzogchen operates with a set of pointing out instructions where the seeker is introduced to the nature of reality. The transmission of Transduality given at the start of Diagnosis is inspired by such instructions.
Towards the end of my stay in India I felt deeply thankful. I had travelled there with little planning and even less money, but except for the unfortunate incident involving the Dalai Lama everything had turned out better than I could have ever dreamed of. In the Tibetan tradition the mind is called the wish-fulfilling jewel, and I now made a final wish: To meet a Dzogchen master in order to receive a pointing out instruction.
As my departure date was swiftly approaching, I accepted that my wish wouldn’t be granted by the powers that be. On my last day before leaving India, I got on a bus heading for the capital New Delhi, where I would catch my flight out. On the first bus stop after my own, a spiritual entourage boarded the bus: A Dzogchen master followed by two monks! I was sitting in a window seat, and one of the monks asked me if it was possible for his master to sit in my seat by the window, and for me to sit next to the master, by the aisle. I had, of course, no objections. Surely, this was my chance to have my wish granted after all and receive an introduction into the nature of reality! However, as soon as the master sat down in his seat, he immediately rolled down the window, and as the old school vehicle accelerated into motion, he stuck his head out the open window.
My thoughts immediately took off on a flight of self-recriminating fancy: Oh, look at him! I thought to myself. He is so enlightened! Taking it all in. Why didn’t I do that when I sat in his seat? In my mind I went on and on, weaving and spinning stories on how this was a manifestation of how awakening is like shattering the glass cage around oneself. It was just like the master sitting next to me. He had opened the window while I had remained within the glass confinement. After a good fifteen minutes of similar schizophrenic accusations of myself by myself, the bus made another stop. The master was in a hurry to get off. I reckoned he was eager to escape the confines of his bus seat to bask in that perfect illusion called nature.
It was only after I had myself exited the bus that I realized why the monks had asked for my seat, why the master had put his head out the window, and why he had been in such a hurry to get off. Along the side of the vehicle, starting from the master’s window and all the way to the rear, ran a trail of fresh vomit. The monks explained to me that their master was a chronic sufferer of terrible carsickness.
We continued talking. They were incredibly interesting, humble and intelligent, and they also became very interested in me when they learned of my interest in Dzogchen. They even wanted me to join them to their monastery in New Delhi to receive an introduction into the nature of reality! However, I declined their offer. I had a flight to catch, and besides, their master had already unwittingly taught me the lesson I needed to learn at the time – a teaching on not to project ideas of enlightenment onto individuals.
Excerpt from my book The Cure, pp. 39-40
TRANSDUALITY 