God is totally naked
ON is OFF.
Or rather, ON is a natural state; OFF is something getting in its way. To get to ON, you drop the stuff that's holding you in OFF — you take the OFF off.
The secret to mastery is to part the curtain of your own thinking; to get your mind out of the way so that you can interact directly, swim without a wetsuit, use all that sensory equipment in your cranium (and body) without forty "safety" filters in the way. Those filters may be making you feel safer, but that's an illusion, a sales pitch; you're built to plug straight in. This is Reality and you're a child of it, and if staring it right in the face shatters your whole frail tangly Psychology, guess what? You didn't need it anyway.
Are you made in God's image or not? Does God need a mental hazmat suit to live in the world? Is there any reason Adam and Eve can't go naked besides their own fear?
Everyone who has ever done something perfectly — sung, skateboarded, wrote, or even just sat in a room — knows this; you don't do it perfectly by doing it a certain way — you do it perfectly by getting the hell out of the way and letting it be done. (This is why you have to learn to do it first; until the mechanics of it are rote, second-nature, you can't fully shut off your mind and let it come naturally. Ask any martial artist.)
You don't think about the results, you don't think about how you look or why you're doing it. You don't think. You do, but not in the sense we construct that sentence in English: "you" don't "do"; more you arrange things so that you are done. (You yin-do, I would say.) The activity, whatever it is, happens in a pure unfiltered form; you put yourself between it and Reality as a conduit. You are spoken through, by Tao, or God if you don't mind sloppy definitions.
But look: If you've ever sung, or danced, or climbed a mountain this way, you're missing the point if you think it's about singing or climbing; this is how you should be all the time. This is what mastery of existence is. Get rid of all the filters…the illusions of control, the attempts at planning, the mental blast-shielding. The world may look radioactive, but it won't hurt you; in fact, when you do get hurt it's because your hazmat suit gets buffeted, twisted or heated and that hurts you. Without it, you're invincible.
Isn't this the point of every story, the lesson of every hero? Strip! Walk completely without fear and there will be nothing to fear! Turn off the targeting computer, Luke; suspend your critical disbelief, Bastien; let go of your past and your shame, Vash. None of it is really helping you…in fact, the opposite is true.
Pascal said that the source of all our discontent can be found in our inability to sit quietly in a room. I think he meant our inability to shut things off (turn the OFF off) to the point where we can just sit — or just do anything. But that's not to make it sound easy (simple, yes; easy, no)…turning off the targeting computer before taking the shot of your life with worlds hanging in the balance is actually kind of a weeny pale description of the level of stress and fear involved, for most people.
But the fear is just the alarm-system on the hazmat suit; it is meaningless beyond its own confines. Extreme or life-threatening activities cause you to skip over the fear, to ignore the alarms, because you don't have time, and physical survival is an easy way to trump the insistence of psychology that you Not Go There. It's not actually hard to be fully present while clinging to the side of a mountain; and this is probably largely why people do it, and similar things.
This is why the true test is being able to "sit in a room"…when you can do that, you've managed to drop the curtain on your own, without some kind of emergency to distract you from the discomfort of it, or even a rote task like singing or painting to smooth the transition.
I've never sat in a room, not without some major emotional crisis going on that functioned pretty much the same as clinging to the side of a mountain.
I did, however, walk across a floor today.
It was amazing.