Life happens, so it is said. It passes; we pass with it. We believe we're "taking it as it is" until it changes abruptly. Only then do we realize that we had no idea "how it is." Only then do we realize how uncertain life is, how uncertain even we are. We believe we "know ourselves," know "who we are," "how we are." But then something happens and we find that we actually know very little, much less "who we are." At such times we may come to a point at which we make conscious choices about "doing what is called for in the moment," or we may just "do it" seemingly instinctively because it is what "must be done." But this generally only happens after we are first devastated by reality, by "what is." Some stay devastated; others get through it. One must certainly "get over oneself" if they are to get through it. But to "get over oneself," one must "get under oneself," which is to say, be able to "see through oneself," to understand how one is, how one lives in a false world of his or her own making.
We are not what we think we are, how we think we are. Rather, we are as we actually are. There is always more to us. We are every step of the journey we take in life, from beginning to end. We are the next step we take. We unfold, unwrinkle, unravel. There is no magic, no miracle, no god, no "way"; there is ourselves. There is what is. But "what is" is not static or defined and is as flowing water. And how can one possibly "know" flowing water? One cannot. We can only become as flowing water ourselves. Does flowing water "know itself"? I don't think so; it can only be itself, even though it has no solid form, no "self" as such, but only an appearance of self, of form. I think this is how it is, how we "are." Why do I think that? Because I know there is the wind blowing the trees outside my windown and I cannot see it but know it is present as it is. Because I know the ocean, just a mile away, undulates, ebbs, and flows; I can hear the crashing surf as well. Sometimes I am very aware that I am alive within this aging flesh and making motions through this body, knowing it is temporary, an important phase, holding many clues from which something is to be learned, gleaned, realized, applied.
My focus, my thoughts, for most of my life, have been as they are now. I watch leaves fall from trees now with much the same wonder as I did as a baby from my carriage. This is "seeing yourself through." But to be able to wonder as a child wonders is to allow oneself to be devastated by reality, by what is. For all we do is constantly and perpetually build up a version of being in the world that insulates us enough that we can live with it. There are always "final straws" that break our backs, as it were, but after picking up the pieces, we reestablish and rebuild our "self-realities" once again that we might once again be "functional" in a dysfunctional existence. None of this is "good" or "bad"; it is just the way it is, until, of course, it isn't. I would love to digress into wonderfully poetic metaphors but will restrain myself.
We are not what we think we are, how we think we are. Rather, we are as we actually are. There is always more to us. We are every step of the journey we take in life, from beginning to end. We are the next step we take. We unfold, unwrinkle, unravel. There is no magic, no miracle, no god, no "way"; there is ourselves. There is what is. But "what is" is not static or defined and is as flowing water. And how can one possibly "know" flowing water? One cannot. We can only become as flowing water ourselves. Does flowing water "know itself"? I don't think so; it can only be itself, even though it has no solid form, no "self" as such, but only an appearance of self, of form. I think this is how it is, how we "are." Why do I think that? Because I know there is the wind blowing the trees outside my windown and I cannot see it but know it is present as it is. Because I know the ocean, just a mile away, undulates, ebbs, and flows; I can hear the crashing surf as well. Sometimes I am very aware that I am alive within this aging flesh and making motions through this body, knowing it is temporary, an important phase, holding many clues from which something is to be learned, gleaned, realized, applied.
My focus, my thoughts, for most of my life, have been as they are now. I watch leaves fall from trees now with much the same wonder as I did as a baby from my carriage. This is "seeing yourself through." But to be able to wonder as a child wonders is to allow oneself to be devastated by reality, by what is. For all we do is constantly and perpetually build up a version of being in the world that insulates us enough that we can live with it. There are always "final straws" that break our backs, as it were, but after picking up the pieces, we reestablish and rebuild our "self-realities" once again that we might once again be "functional" in a dysfunctional existence. None of this is "good" or "bad"; it is just the way it is, until, of course, it isn't. I would love to digress into wonderfully poetic metaphors but will restrain myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment