The Radical Simplicity of Understanding
by Beezone
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Between 1970 and 1972, Franklin Jones began articulating what he called “understanding.” Unlike conventional spiritual paths that emphasize seeking, attainment, or progress, he insisted that understanding is not something to be achieved. It is not a final goal but an ever-present reality, accessible in every moment. Understanding is always already the truth—it is not something that arises over time or develops through effort but is inherent in all forms of existence. The paradox, however, is that while this condition is always already the case, it remains elusive to those who seek it. As the old adage goes, “You can’t get there from here.”
The following comes out of a selection of these early writings by Franklin Jones, later known as Adi Da Samraj. The italized words are from his writings.
The man of understanding, as Franklin Jones describes, is not tempted, threatened, or troubled by life. He does not experience a fundamental dilemma because he perceives no separation between himself and the conditions of existence. Where most people react to life’s pressures by resisting, avoiding, or defending themselves, the man of understanding has no such impulse. He does not seek anything because he is already full. Yet his fullness is not an accumulation of knowledge, experience, or spiritual achievement. It is not something he has attained; rather, it arises from his non-separation from life itself.
This fullness contrasts with the ordinary state of human beings, who experience life as an anxious search. People oscillate between desire and fear, constantly looking for something to complete or protect them. They either chase after new experiences or seek to escape discomfort, caught in a cycle of reaction. This movement—this constant search for fulfillment—creates tension and exhaustion. The man of understanding, however, is free of this process. He simply is. And yet, for the seeker, this freedom remains an enigma. The more one tries to grasp it, the more distant it appears. One cannot reach the state of understanding by striving, because striving itself is the obstacle.
Franklin emphasizes that understanding is neither dramatic nor mystical. It is not a heightened state of consciousness, a transcendental experience, or an altered state like samadhi. It is radical simplicity. It does not depend on visions, ecstasy, or any extraordinary event. The man of understanding enjoys all things, but he is not caught in the need to seek pleasure or avoid pain. He does not withdraw from experience, but neither is he bound by it.
For him, cognition and experience occur, yet they are prior to all seeking and dilemma. His awareness is not shaped by conflict or longing. Thoughts and sensations arise, but they do not lead to struggle or grasping. This suggests a kind of witness position—a recognition that something fundamental exists before all thought, all experience, all activity of the mind. Jones identifies this essential presence as the Heart, though not in the emotional sense. Rather, the Heart is the unqualified ground of being, the source of radical enjoyment and freedom.
Freedom from Seeking and the Paradox of Inquiry
The man of understanding pursues no experience, lives without purpose, and exists without qualification. This does not mean he is passive or indifferent. Rather, his life is not dictated by a need for meaning, goals, or identity. He does not act out of compulsion, nor does he seek justification for his existence. His movements, though outwardly the same as anyone else’s, arise without tension or deliberation. There is no striving—he is not “becoming” anything. He is always already present, without needing to define or complete himself.
Because of this, his life becomes a communication of reality itself. There is nothing he must do to transmit this understanding—it simply radiates from his being. He does not set out to teach, guide, or influence others, yet those who encounter him are naturally turned toward the same state of joy. Understanding releases one from search, demand, habit, and controlling desire. It is not a path to be followed, nor is it something to develop over time. It is a condition that is already the case, waiting only to be recognized.
Jones describes how inquiry—the investigation that leads to understanding—reveals three fundamental modifications of consciousness: identification, differentiation, and desire. These three tendencies define ordinary experience, shaping how the mind reacts to life. Identification is the tendency to grasp at something as “me” or “mine.” Differentiation which arises simultaneously is the creation of “other”; the establishment of “this” in contrast to “that.” Desire is the movement of attraction and aversion—the feeling of wanting to acquire, escape, or control.
But here arises a deeper paradox: inquiry itself can become a method, and in doing so, it can obstruct what it seeks to illuminate. If one takes the process of inquiry—looking into one’s motivations, recognizing patterns of seeking, observing identification, differentiation, and desire—as a technique to “achieve” understanding, then the whole point is missed. The very effort to engage in inquiry as a means to an end reinforces the very search it was meant to expose.
Jones was not presenting a structured path or a set of spiritual techniques. His communication was inherently paradoxical—designed not to provide a method but to provoke a direct recognition. If one turns “no-seeking” into a method of seeking, or turns self-inquiry into a rigid process, one has missed the point entirely. The nature of his teaching was to expose the impulse behind all forms of seeking—not to offer yet another way to navigate it.
Thus, the challenge is that one must “see” without trying to see, inquire without turning inquiry into a strategy, and recognize that understanding is already the case without making “recognition” a new goal. This is why those who attempt to “figure it out” intellectually remain in a state of frustration—turning the paradox into an object to be grasped rather than an invitation into direct insight—creating an alternative to “understanding.”
The Radical Condition of Freedom
Ultimately, understanding is not an achievement, a destination, or a final realization. It is not something to be reached after effort or practice. It is the recognition of what has always been the case: the absence of dilemma, the fullness of presence, the simplicity of being. All seeking, all tension, all grasping arises from a mistaken perception that something is missing, that life is incomplete. The man of understanding sees through this illusion.
Jones’s teaching, then, is not a method in the traditional sense. It does not propose steps to follow, practices to undertake, or beliefs to adopt. Instead, it points to what is always already the case. Understanding is radical because it requires nothing—it is neither earned nor bestowed. It does not belong to the realm of spiritual experience, nor to the domain of intellectual insight. It is simply the condition of reality itself, standing prior to all seeking, tension, and dilemma.
And so, for those who grasp this, there is no further question, no further search. There is only life, unfolding as it is, free from the effort to control or define it. But for those still seeking, the paradox remains: you can’t get there from here. The very act of trying to “get there” assumes there is somewhere to go, something to gain, something to attain. But understanding is not in the future—it is not a place to arrive at. It is already here.
And yet, even to say that it is already here can become another conceptual trap, another thing to “know” rather than directly realize. This is why the paradox must remain unresolved in language—it can only be seen in direct experience. Inquiry is valid only insofar as it reflects on itself, revealing its own paradoxical nature. If inquiry becomes a method, it ceases to be true inquiry. If non-seeking becomes a path, it becomes seeking. The Heart remains the center—the unqualified source of being—and understanding is its natural state.