I Don’t Trust Enlightenment Anymore

What happens when your teacher breaks the myth—and you keep walking anyway

A photo of Sgt. Pepper, circal 2019, in Phoenix…because he’s the best Zen teacher I know.

There's a strange kind of grief that comes when your Zen teacher turns out to be a narcissistic asshole.

It's not just grief for them—the person you thought they were—but for everything they represented: the lineage, the tradition, the comforting myth that practicing tai chi or qigong somehow burns away all the ego, all the shadow, all the mess.

Because if someone can practice for decades and still manipulate, control, or harm others…then what the hell are we doing?

Years ago, I made the painful decision to leave my teacher after 17 years of inner-chamber discipleship. I resigned because of his unethical and unacceptable response to a sexual abuse scandal within his school—abuse perpetrated by one of his certified instructors.

I witnessed firsthand how the victims were blamed, the perpetrator protected, the evidence ignored, and the critics silenced. It became heartbreakingly clear that my teacher and I differed significantly in core values.

It's true that he never explicitly claimed enlightenment, but he didn’t need to. Through frequent references to gods, reincarnation, celestial realms, and the Dao, he carefully positioned himself not merely as a skilled teacher, but as someone spiritually exalted—uniquely able to access divine wisdom. He cultivated a subtle myth around himself, implying—without ever directly stating—that he stood apart from the rest of us.

And like other charismatic teachers who built abusive power structures—Pattabhi Jois, Bikram Choudhury, Yogi Bhajan—his unchecked spiritual authority created the conditions for manipulation and harm.

We see a similar pattern with spiritual teachers who do claim enlightenment. The list of fallen “enlightened” masters is long: Chögyam Trungpa. Sogyal Rinpoche. Joshu Sasaki Roshi. Eido Shimano. Andrew Cohen. Genpo Merzel. So many magnetic humans who transmitted something—real presence, real power—and yet still used that power to harm others.

Zen. Tibetan Buddhism. Neo-Advaita. The traditions differ, but the pattern is the same.

Shortly after I left my teacher, I joined 98 other Zen teachers in signing an open letter calling out abuse and demanding a safer, more accountable future. So there is a streak of accountability in many traditions. That’s good news. And yet, for me, the concept of enlightenment is forever changed.

The myth broke in stages. First came the shock. Then the anger. The confusion. The silence.

What is awakening, really—if it doesn’t make someone safe to be around?

Because according to all traditions, awakening should be the end of suffering, the dissolution of ego, the return to truth, the embodiment of compassion.

But clearly, it doesn’t always touch the whole person. Not the trauma. Not the conditioning. Not the blind spots. Not the human shadow.

So maybe awakening isn’t what I thought it was.

For years, I wandered—disillusioned, untethered—wondering if there was a different word or concept that fit better. That’s when I discovered xiūxíng.

In ancient Chinese traditions—both Daoist and Buddhist—xiūxíng means “to refine your way of life.” It’s not about beliefs, enlightenment, or titles. It’s about how you live. How you breathe. How you respond when you’re triggered. How you carry yourself through grief, fear, confusion, or rage.

(Sidebar: I wrote another article about xiuxing, which you can find here: I’m Not Less Spiritual. I Just Found a Better Word.)

What makes xiūxíng so powerful is its measurability.

Unlike enlightenment—which remains abstract, mysteriously internal, and often claimed without verification—xiūxíng manifests in observable ways. We can witness it in action, both in ourselves and in others.

In ourselves, we notice tangible shifts: fewer reactive outbursts when challenged, increased capacity to sit with discomfort, greater patience with those who frustrate us, more consistent alignment between our stated values and our actual behaviors. These aren’t mystical attainments but practical, embodied realities—ones we and those around us can recognize.

And just as importantly, we can see where others fall short. A teacher might speak eloquently about compassion yet belittle students. They might preach ethics while protecting abusers. They might espouse humility while building a cult of personality.

With xiūxíng as our metric, these contradictions become impossible to rationalize away.

We’re no longer asking, “Are they enlightened?” We’re asking, “How do they treat people?” Not “Have they transcended ego?” but “Do they take responsibility when they cause harm?”

This reframing creates accountability. It roots spiritual practice in observable human behavior. It gives us permission to trust what we see, to honor our instincts when something feels off.

It means showing up. It means growing up. It means softening into discomfort instead of bypassing it with spiritual language. It means doing the work—daily, imperfectly, honestly.

This is what my practice is really about now. Not transcendence. Not escape. Just self-cultivation—real, gritty, embodied work.

Qigong and tai chi will make you a better person—but only if you practice them as xiūxíng, as honest self-cultivation rather than spiritual bypassing.

Because in truth, spiritual bypassing will undo the benefits of any art or practice. It’s like a corrupting force that poisons even the most beautiful path.

I’m not chasing enlightenment anymore. I’m practicing xiūxíng. I’m cultivating the path.

I’m healing, integrating, and learning how to live with a little more grace.

Maybe awakening is real. I’ve certainly glimpsed something that feels like it in deep practice.

But I don’t trust the label anymore. I don’t trust the myth. I don’t trust the institutions that hand out “enlightenment” like a badge.

What I trust now is xiūxíng.

I trust that I’m on a path that heals my nervous system, gives me the courage to face trauma, softens my reactivity, and helps me love better.

I don’t know if I’ll reach enlightenment. But I know I’m becoming more honest, more grounded, more human.

And maybe that’s more important—because it’s real. Because we can count on it.

Maybe it’s not about transcending the human mess, but learning how to live inside it with grace.

And maybe, if I keep walking this path—messy, imperfect, committed—I’ll stumble into whatever they were talking about.

I’ll let you know when I get there.

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About me: I’m Sifu Anthony, a longtime teacher of qigong and tai chi, and a bestselling author. These arts pulled me out of depression and chronic pain when nothing else worked. Now I teach students from all over the world, mostly online. I live in New Mexico with my dog, my garden, and a stunning view of the Sandia mountains. More about me →

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