Fuck you, Eckhart Tolle

a poem, and some context

First, the poem…

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Fuck you, Eckhart Tolle,
and your droning voice about "The Power of Now".

For every enlightened one, like you, who has escaped
the grips of depression has taken its stakes.
Whilst you blissed out on a park bench in Berlin,
a hundred thousand others found solace in heroin.
Ten thousand more took their lives,
hanging from ropes, cutting wrists with knives.

How dare you have the audacity
to tell your readers to simply be
when this world of our making bears down on the souls
of the citizens who need to pay their tolls.

And yes, your heart is probably good
but your reductionism is so easily misunderstood
to place the blame on the one in pain,
to say they need to change the game.

But how do we pull ourselves up by our own laces
when those very boots are lined with blades and maces.

Consider this:
it is only grace that makes us reach
the states of being of which you preach.
Your freedom is precious, yet it has no price.
Be careful of such easily dispensed advice.

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Then, the context:

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I wrote this poem three months ago, but kept it to a few close friends and my therapist. Someone had sent me an Eckhart Tolle meditation in the midst of a challenging time, and I was pissed off.¹

What did Eckhart Tolle ever do to me? Nothing. As mentioned, I’m sure he has good intentions. But I have two basic gripes:

The first is ‘universal advice’: some trite distillation of reality that sounds good as a sound bite. But when it comes to real life beyond some conversational quip, often serious mileage needs to be covered before said quip becomes experientially accessible.

There’s this implied communication of: “Oh, your problem is easily classified into such and such bucket. Well, let me tell you something. There’s this realisation, and if you just had this realisation, your problem would be solved and you’d be happy.” And somewhere in there is the subtext: “It’s all very simple, what’s wrong with you for not being able to access it?”

Which brings me to my second gripe: How much credit can we actually take for effecting change in our lives?

My answer is: if not zero, very close to it.

No, I’m not a puppet on strings being played by a puppet master. There is active participation in this unfolding of life (toddler analogy to follow). But I’m more convinced than ever that all of the things that bring peace and contentedness for me in this life are only in my orbit by pure grace, i.e. I did nothing to earn it.

Maybe there’s karma, maybe there’s re-incarnation. Maybe “my soul chose this”. But teeny, tiny Dario over here? This little human trying to figure shit out day-by-day? He did fokol. Nada. Nothing.

And if I happen to stumble over some realisation that unlocks states of deep bliss and wonder, I would be like a toddler falling into a cookie jar. It would not have been anything of my doing. Some thing greater than me would have left the lid off and made the whole container ground level (silly greater thing). It would not be a spectacular achievement of said toddler’s meditative practice. But the toddler is participating in it, by crawling around and exploring, not sitting in a corner sulking (anymore).

Wherever I’ve found myself is just a case of sheer dumb luck. And tonight I shall get on my knees and be grateful to some thing beyond myself for this experience, and pray for more grace to go forth day by day and expand the parts of myself that are more for this life than against it.

(And if my soul chose this, thank you for the ride so far… overall it’s been pretty good. Some needless hitting my head against a wall, trying to figure it out. But we’re getting past that slowly. Although clearly I’m still trying somewhat. Ah, paradox.)

finding the cookie jar

1.

Side-note: a friend asked me after the reading when I was going to write a joyful, blissed-out poem? Hopefully soon…