Sometimes I have conversations with people who are not there. Not out loud conversations. No Thorazine yet, thank you very much. But I definitely catch myself having spirited debates and heated arguments with folks who exist only in my head. Which doesn't stop them from speaking forcefully, and, at times, eloquently on their own behalf.
On occasion they are people I know. Other times they are purely fictional creations, brought into existence to question my thinking, my actions, or just piss me off. (Because there's not enough real people pissing me off, I've gotta make some up.)
But I've recently become more fascinated by the idea that there is no self at all. The memories, emotions, thoughts and attitudes that combine to create the self are finally recognized as nothing more than ripples on the surface of a pond. And the truth of what we are, collectively and individually, is the pond itself. That which silently embraces the endless dance of form.
Deep. Clear. Still.
Reflecting the infinite and eternal, while receiving with equanimity both the beauty and the ugliness that falls into it - even the critical inner voice which is talking to me right now. It seems to me that the biggest, most momentous choice of our lives is the one that none of us gets to make. I'm talking about the decision to be here, to be alive. Now before we digress into the choice of leaving this life, a subject best suited for handwritten notes left on the bed stand, let's investigate the initial premise.
Simply put, we all arrive here screaming, crying and covered in goo, without prior consultation. Or so it appears. If in fact we were part of the decision to become cognizant, the memory of that process has been completely wiped from our consciousness. But what if it were retrievable? What if we could become aware of the primary decision to live, the fateful choice to participate in the world of time, energy and form? Wouldn't that improve our daily condition? No matter how difficult and confusing life was, we would always be clear on one thing, "I asked to be here. This is my choice."
Of course, there's another option to consider. We are here against our will. The unending cycle of birth, life and death is a sentence. We are souls in prison. But that grim, Matrix-like scenario falls apart the minute you ask how hell on earth could possibly include single malt whisky. Or Doctor Who.
The things I have spent my life depending on are undependable. Because they are things. And things are, by their very nature, subject to change. This applies to people as well. People change. People leave. Inevitably we all leave. The world, therefore, is essentially an unstable, uncertain environment. That's why I choose to believe in, and depend on, an unchanging, eternal, omnipresent non-thing.
I prefer not to call it God, because the very word tends to thing things up. So I try not to call it. I try to experience it.
Easy to do looking out at the ocean. Hard to do looking up at the ocean. Easy to do when you look at a baby. Hard to do if the baby is next to you on a long plane flight. Easy to do when you look at a pretty girl. Hard to do if you once loved her.
Clearly what blocks me from transcendence is judgment. If I were able to suspend having an opinion on drowning, other peoples' baby's vomit, and separation anxiety, if I could simply see these things as they are - actions devoid of meaning until I give them meaning - I could experience some semblance of union with the infinite sublime. The human mind is very adept at labelling. Left to its own devices, it will label situations, things, places, and people. It's a pretty handy app.
Except when it comes to people. Over time those labels tend to solidify. They become all we can see. They become what we experience. The true depth of a person, the breath-taking miracle of their very existence, is replaced with a word. A sound. An assemblage of vowels and consonants. Ink or digital letters on paper or screen. Which is why I sometimes try to look at people and see them, witness them if you will, without immediately attaching a mental label. This is especially fun to do in a crowded public place. After a few minutes of practicing non-judgemental looking, I find my heart filling with affection for total strangers.
It's an extraordinary experience. I encourage you to try it sometime. Be warned though, when you feel affection, you can't stop smiling. Even when you find yourself looking through the wedding photos of someone you loved once. Well, you've both made it this far, so kudos on successfully navigating your first trip round the sun together.
Just keep right on …