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As a reader and seeker, I always get frustrated at this moment in somebody else’s spiritual
memoirs—that moment in which the soul excuses itself from time and place and merges with
the infinite. From the Buddha to Saint Teresa to the Sufi mystics to my own Guru—so many
great souls over the centuries have tried to express in so many words what it feels like to be-
come one with the divine, but I’m never quite satisfied by these descriptions. Often you will
see the maddening adjective indescribable used to describe the event. But even the most elo-
quent reporters of the devotional experience—like Rumi, who wrote about having abandoned
all effort and tied himself to God’s sleeve, or Hafiz, who said that he and God had become like
two fat men living in a small boat—“we keep bumping into each other and laughing”—even
these poets leave me behind. I don’t want to read about it; I want to feel it, too. Sri Ramana
Maharshi, a beloved Indian Guru, used to give long talks on the transcendental experience to
his pupils and then always wrap it up with this instruction: “Now go find out.”
So now I have found out. And I don’t want to say that what I experienced that Thursday af-
ternoon in India was indescribable, even though it was. I’ll try to explain anyway. Simply put, I
got pulled through the wormhole of the Absolute, and in that rush I suddenly understood the
workings of the universe completely. I left my body, I left the room, I left the planet, I stepped
through time and I entered the void. I was inside the void, but I also was the void and I was
looking at the void, all at the same time. The void was a place of limitless peace and wisdom.
The void was conscious and it was intelligent. The void was God, which means that I was in-
side God. But not in a gross, physical way—not like I was Liz Gilbert stuck inside a chunk of
God’s thigh muscle. I just was part of God. In addition to being God. I was both a tiny piece of
the universe and exactly the same size as the universe. (“All know that the drop merges into
the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop,” wrote the sage Kabir—and I
can personally attest now that this is true.)
It wasn’t hallucinogenic, what I was feeling. It was the most basic of events. It was heav-
en, yes. It was the deepest love I’d ever experienced, beyond anything I could have previ-
ously imagined, but it wasn’t euphoric. It wasn’t exciting. There wasn’t enough ego or passion
left in me to create euphoria and excitement. It was just obvious. Like when you’ve been look-