Do You Want to Be Right, or Do You Want to Be Free?

Do You Want to Be Right, or Do You Want to Be Free?

Long ago, I came across a question that my Guru, Neem Karoli Baba—Maharaji—asked of Ram Dass:

“Do you want to be right, or do you want to be free?”

I have returned to that question many times. I wish I could say that my answer is always, immediately, “I want to be free!” But sometimes I really, really want to be right.

I want the other person to understand why I am right. I want to explain my position one more time. I want to defend myself. I want to replay the conversation in my head and come up with an even better response than the one I gave at the time.

Perhaps you can relate.

Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with having an opinion, standing in our truth, or even being right. We need a healthy sense of self to move through the world. We need boundaries. We need discernment. We need to be able to make decisions and act.

The problem comes when we become so identified with that sense of self that we mistake it for who we really are. This idea is at the heart of the October Jivamukti Yoga Focus of the Month, “Overcoming the Ego and Separation.” The essay begins with the story of Rama and Sita from the Indian epic poem, the Ramayana. Sita has been abducted by Ravana, the powerful ten-headed king of Lanka, and Rama sets out to rescue her with the help of Hanuman and his allies.

Like so many of the great stories from the yoga tradition, the Ramayana can be understood on many levels. We can read it as an epic adventure filled with heroes, demons, battles, love, loss, and devotion. But we can also read it as a story about what happens within our own consciousness.

In this interpretation, Ravana represents ahamkara, the ego or “I-maker.”

It is interesting that Ravana is not portrayed as stupid or incapable. Quite the opposite. He is extraordinarily intelligent, knowledgeable, accomplished, and powerful. He is a great scholar and a devotee of Shiva. His problem is not that he lacks knowledge but rather that he becomes identified with it.

That distinction is worth considering. How easily do we do the same thing?

I am a teacher. I am a business owner. I am a mother. I am a friend. I am a spiritual practitioner. I am successful. I am unsuccessful. I am intelligent. I am attractive. I am not attractive enough. I am a good person. I am the kind of person who would never do that. The list goes on and on.

Or simply: I am right, and you are wrong.

These identities help us function in the world, but yoga tells us that none of them represents the deepest truth of who we are. Ram Dass used to talk about confusing our “roles” with our “souls.” We become so invested in the roles we are playing that we forget the Being underlying them.

Yoga asks us to remember.

In his Yoga Sutra, Patanjali identifies asmita, or egoism, as one of the five kleshas, the afflictions or obstacles that create suffering. The others are avidya (ignorance or misperception), raga (attachment), dvesha (aversion), and abhinivesha (clinging to life or fear of death).

These are not abstract philosophical concepts. I can see all five operating in my own mind on a fairly regular basis. I want something. I do not want something. I like this. I dislike that. I want things to happen according to my plan. I want to hold on to what makes me comfortable. And when reality refuses to cooperate with my preferences, I suffer.

The ego is very good at creating stories about all of this. It tells us who we are, who everyone else is, what should have happened, what should happen next, and why we are justified in feeling the way we do.

This is where Maharaji’s question becomes such a useful spiritual practice:

Do you want to be right, or do you want to be free?

Sometimes freedom requires loosening my grip on the story. That does not mean denying my feelings or pretending that something did not hurt. It does not mean allowing people to cross my boundaries. Nor does spiritual practice require us to somehow “destroy” our egos. In fact, a healthy ego serves an important purpose. It allows us to function in this human incarnation.

The practice is to begin noticing when the ego is running the show. This is where mindfulness becomes so important. Through meditation and self-study, we cultivate what yoga calls the sakshi, the witness. We begin to develop the ability to observe what is happening within us without immediately becoming swept away by it.

I am angry. Can I notice the anger without becoming the anger? I am hurt. Can I make space for the hurt without constructing an entire identity around it? I want to be right. Can I notice that desire and perhaps even smile at it? The more we practice, the more space we create between the experience and our reaction to it. And in that space, we have a choice.

For me, this is where Bhakti becomes essential.

In the Ramayana, it is Hanuman who helps Rama cross the seemingly impossible distance separating him from Sita. Hanuman embodies devotion, service, courage, strength, humility, and unconditional love. Hanuman is extraordinarily powerful, yet his power is never about glorifying himself. Everything he does is offered in service to Ram.

There is a beautiful lesson in that. The ego says, “Look what I did.” Bhakti says, “May this be offered to God.” The ego asks, “What will I get?” Bhakti asks, “How can I serve?” The ego wants recognition. Bhakti wants only to remember the Beloved.

This is one of the reasons Hanuman has become so important in my own spiritual practice and why chanting the Hanuman Chalisa means so much to me. Again and again, Hanuman points away from himself and toward Ram. Perhaps that is also what spiritual practice asks of us. Not to erase ourselves, but to stop making ourselves the center of everything.

When we chant, bow, pray, serve, meditate, or dedicate our actions to something greater than our individual selves, the boundaries around that little “me” begin to soften. And something else becomes possible: connection.

Last month, I wrote about Maharaji’s teaching, Sub Ek: All One. I wrote about the yogic teaching that beneath all the apparent differences between us, there is no real separation.

But knowing “All One” and experiencing All One are not necessarily the same thing. The ego keeps rebuilding the walls. Me and you. Mine and yours. Us and them. What I want and what you want. My suffering and your suffering. My happiness and your happiness. Our spiritual practice helps us notice those walls. Bhakti helps us begin to dismantle them.

Perhaps this is why Maharaji’s teachings were so beautifully simple:

Love everyone. Serve everyone. Remember God.

These practices continually turn our attention away from the small self and toward something larger. When I serve another being, I loosen the grip of self-centeredness. When I love someone without needing anything in return, I loosen the grip of attachment. When I remember God, I loosen the grip of the idea that I am somehow separate from God.

And every once in a while, perhaps only for a moment, the boundaries disappear. There is no “me” over here and “God” somewhere over there. There is no “self” and “other.” There is only the One.

Of course, then the mind returns. The ego returns. Someone annoys us. Someone cuts us off in traffic. Someone says something we do not like. Our plans change. We do not get what we want.

And once again, we have the opportunity to practice.

I have been practicing yoga for more than thirty years, and I still continue to work with my ego. I try to become curious about it and to recognize when my need to defend, control, achieve, possess, or be right is creating separation. And then, when I remember, I try to offer it all back to God.

Ram.

Ram.

Ram.

Perhaps freedom does not come from defeating the ego in some enormous internal battle. Perhaps it comes through thousands of small moments in which we notice that we have become caught again and choose to let go.

We choose compassion instead of judgment. We choose service instead of self-interest. We choose curiosity instead of certainty. We choose devotion instead of separation.

And sometimes we simply ask ourselves the question that Maharaji asked so many years ago: Do I want to be right, or do I want to be free?

Ram Ram,

Sharada Devi