Enlightenment Blues. Andre van der Braak

apparently managed to woo the ever-elusive Enlightenment. In 1986, after having tried many approaches, Andrew went to see an obscure Indian guru, H.W.L. Poonja, a disciple of the famous sage Ramana Maharshi. After a few conversations, the inconceivable happened. Enlightenment descended upon Andrew. In some mysterious way, Andrew had spontaneously morphed from an insecure thirty-year-old into a charismatic spiritual teacher with a silver tongue, exuding great clarity and a mystical presence. Suddenly Andrew was irresistible, and wherever he went people wanted to be around him, and hang onto his every word. He seemed to possess an uncanny ability to transmit a deep glimpse of enlightenment, inspiring people to leave everything behind and become his disciples. Thousands of people still full of hope and longing flocked to see him.

      When Andrew came to Amsterdam in 1987, I went to see him. Meeting Andrew was a revelation for me. I felt, like so many others around me, that finally I had understood what enlightenment was, not as a theory but as a living actuality. Those of us drawn to Andrew were also drawn to each other. We were united by a deep love for and surrender to Andrew. We saw ourselves as the latest manifestation of an age-old phenomenon, like Christ and his disciples, stirring up the religious (in this case Buddhist) establishment. We saw Andrew as a “fisher of men” who told us to “let the dead bury the dead.” We were sure that Andrew’s revolution would take the spiritual world by storm.

      Andre van der Braak, July 2003

      1

      THE HONEYMOON

      The foundation of spiritual life is clarity of intention.

       Do I really want to be Free, here and now?

      -Andrew Cohen

      1.1. Meeting With Andrew

      It is dead quiet in the small living room. I am in one of these squatting houses, small, decrepit but clean. The furniture has been removed from the living room—thirty people sit cross-legged on meditation cushions on the floor. Five people on chairs sit in the back watching. Nobody moves. Some have their eyes closed, others open. Everyone seems filled with a deep peace and rest. I’ve come here with my friend Harry who, fully engaged as usual, sits in one of the first rows while I sit on a chair in the back, checking things out from a distance.

      The front door opens and closes. I hear coats rustling in the wardrobe, footsteps and then a disarming, friendly, smiling, young man steps into the room. He looks about thirty, six years older than me. A meditation cushion has been prepared for him in front of the room and he sits down cross-legged, facing everyone. Still smiling, he looks around the room, nodding hello to this person and the other. He has an open face, sensual mouth, a moustache, and black hair. His dark brown eyes possess something unusual, I don’t know what exactly. He appears completely at ease, seemingly unaware that thirty people have their attention fixated on him. It’s as if he’s alone in his own living room. I take a liking to him immediately—a man without pretense. I am curious as to what will follow.

      Andrew has completed his wordless greeting and sits still with closed eyes on his cushion. I wait for the program to start. After ten minutes I get the niggling feeling that I’m the only one in the room who’s waiting for something. The others seem perfectly at ease, enjoying the silence. Then I realize there is no evening program! This is it! I sit up straight and close my eyes to meditate, which is not that difficult for me after five years of intensive Buddhist meditation practice. I scrupulously observe the rising and falling of the lower abdomen with each inhalation and exhalation. Thoughts that arise I put aside gently. I become quieter and quieter. A silence envelopes the room.

      After two hours I hear rustling. When I open my eyes I see Andrew get up from his cushion and walk out of the room slowly. During the whole evening not a single word has been uttered. I am somewhat disappointed. So this was it? What about enlightenment? I did have a nice meditation though.

      In the tram home Harry and I talk about the evening. Harry is enthusiastic. “Did you feel that energy?” he says. “Very strong. The energy of enlightenment.”

      I hesitate. I wouldn’t go that far. But after all, I was sitting in the back row, not in the front.

      “Yes, I did have a deep meditation,” I allow him.

      “Tomorrow there’s satsang again,” he says. “We have to get there early so we can sit in the front.” Satsang is the Indian name for the public gatherings with Andrew. In Sanskrit it means “company with the wise”, and is the customary term for the meetings of a spiritual teacher with his followers.

      The next evening we both sit on the floor. Andrew is talking to people. Many have already been here before, some coming from abroad to Amsterdam—an impressive display of loyalty. Someone is asking Andrew what enlightenment is. I perk up my ears.

      “Enlightenment,” Andrew says with a smile, “is relief. It is cessation. It is the end of becoming. It’s the end of the struggle to become anyone or anything. It’s coming finally to rest, here and now, in this life.”

      That’s not the kind of answer I expected. What is Andrew actually saying? Is he actually saying anything? My philosophically trained mind tries to extract some content from this proposition but doesn’t get very far. Coming to rest, yes, but why do you come to rest then? And is life really such a struggle? Do I experience it as a struggle? Am I looking for relief? Andrew himself looks very serene, as if that relief has taken place for him already. He looks perfectly at ease. He’s not holding some kind of lecture here; his words are based on what he is experiencing.

      Andrew looks at the questioner with a faint smile, as if he wants to say, “Yes, it is that simple. I’m sorry I can’t make it any more complicated.” The questioner is looking into Andrew’s eyes, and Andrew is looking back as if to say, “What now?” Not a word is exchanged. You could hear a pin drop in the room. I look from the questioner to Andrew and back. What is going on here? Some kind of deep alchemistic process, a transmission or something? Several moments go by.

      Then the questioner bursts out laughing.

      “That’s it,” Andrew calls out, “you got it. You just got it. You can’t get enlightenment with the mind. What’s your experience right now?”

      The questioner, still laughing, cheerfully shrugs his shoulders. Others in the room also begin to laugh.

      Andrew asks, “Is there any struggle right now?” The questioner shakes no. “Do you feel the need to become anyone or anything?” Again no.

      “That’s it,” says Andrew. “Don’t forget this.” Then he continues to the rest of the room: “Did you see this? This man was trying to get a definition of enlightenment, something to take back home to chew on. But enlightenment goes beyond definition, goes beyond thought. You can only experience it directly, if you dare to let go of your thinking mind for a moment.”

      Everyone nods in agreement, and looks at the questioner. I look at him too. He looks like he’s reborn. His eyes are radiant, and he has a permanent smile on his face. What just happened? Did Andrew stop his thinking mind with his unexpected answer? Did he transmit the essence of enlightenment to him?

      Another fragment of a conversation touches me:

      “Where is your passion for liberation? Without passion for liberation there is no hope for liberation. Passion for liberation is your liberation, and if you surrender to that passion, become a slave of that passion, your fate will be sealed.”

      Andrew speaks with an amazing self-confidence. He radiates certainty and charisma. He doesn’t speak about enlightenment; he is enlightenment, that’s what his whole appearance expresses.

      1.2. My Earlier Life

      “Lord, I beseech Thee; give me strength and power to do what’s right, to remain faithful to Thee no matter what happens. Lord, I ask Thee, give that Carla is in love with me too and that we can marry each other later. Lord, I love Thee with all my heart. I will give Thee all that Thou would ask. Amen.”

      This was one of the prayers that I sent up to God every night. I was eight years old. Being raised as a Roman Catholic,