Observer is Observed
Let us look at this question very simply, not as an intellectual theory or an idea to be debated, but as an actual, living fact.
When you say, "I am angry," "I am jealous," or "I am conditioned," there is the "I"—the entity that feels it is looking at the anger, the jealousy, or the conditioning. That "I" is the observer, and the anger is the observed. We have divided ourselves into these two parts, have we not? The watcher, and the thing being watched. The thinker separates himself from his thoughts to safeguard himself, to give himself continuity and permanency. He says, "I am different from this jealousy, and I am going to get rid of it, suppress it, or control it."
But is that division real? Or is it an illusion that we have accepted as a fact? Is the "I" actually separate from the jealousy? Or is the thinker his thought? Is the observer anything other than the observed?
Let us find out. Who is this observer who says, "I must control my anger," or "I must get rid of my fear"? Is that observer a separate, permanent entity, or is it simply the past? It is your memories, your conditioning, your accumulated knowledge, the words you use to judge and evaluate. When you feel anger, the observer immediately steps in, names it "anger," and says, "This is bad, I must suppress it." That naming, that condemnation, is the movement of the past.
Can you observe the observer by itself?
You cannot. You do not observe the observer in isolation. You can only observe the observer in its relationship to the observed, through its interference with "what is." At the moment of a direct feeling—say, at the split-second of intense violence or joy—there is neither the observer nor the observed. There is only that state. Then, a moment later, the observer comes in. The observer is the movement of thought, which is the past, the accumulated memory. This past interferes with the present. It says, "I have been angry before, I must escape from this." This very interference, this escape, this traditional approach to the present, is the observer.
So, if you do not name the feeling, if you do not try to run away from it or change it, is there a separate "you" who is angry? Or is there only the state of anger?
When you look at this very closely, you perceive that the observer is the observed. They are not two separate entities; they are already one. The division between them is an illusion created by thought to protect the "me" and the "mine."
If that is the actual fact, what happens to conflict? As long as there is a division between the observer and the observed, there must be a struggle—the "I" exercising will, discipline, or power to control, shape, or conquer the "what is." But when the mind sees this actual integrated fact, when the observer realizes that he is the observed—that he is the very fear or violence he is trying to escape—can there be any struggle at all? Can you fight yourself?
When there is no longer the creator of distance and time—which is the observer—what is left?