When I was a kid, I used to love the movie The Invisible Man. I must have seen it five or six times, probably even more. I mean the one filmed in black and white, most probably the one from 1933 with Claude Rains.
Not too long ago, I stumbled upon the most amazing discovery. I don’t think I have ever heard or read anyone speaking about this fact. In meditation, I discovered that my body cannot see me, neither my foot nor my hand, not my torso nor even my head. I can see them. I can perceive my body with my eyes closed, but it cannot see me.
I can also see my mind working. I can see thoughts. When I say see I mean perceive. I can see thoughts, but as far as I can tell, they can’t see me. If they can, they must be using some other media because I am tied up looking at them. I can even see my feelings. Emotions show up and I can see them, but I remain unseen by them.
Of course, this makes me want to look a little further, and when I do, I see that it is the same when I perceive what I had considered to be anyone else. When I look at their body, or see their ideas, or even sometimes catch a glimpse of some emotion passing over them, I realize that these things cannot see me. I remain in the background.
It isn’t much of a leap to realize that when I look at my wife Amido I am seeing all of those things, but they are not seeing me either. And it is clear that they also do not see her. So, I too cannot see Amido, and she cannot see me. It’s pretty hard to objectify someone if you can’t even see them.
Wow, I am the invisible man and it seems that you, most likely, are too. But don’t take my word for it. Have a look for yourself.
This is from the collection of stories, essays, poems and insights that is compiled to form the book From Lemurs to Lamas: Confessions of a Bodhisattva. Order the book Here.