The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.
Albert Einstein
I have a confession to make. I can’t stop reading self-help, personal development and spirituality books. What’s more, I just keep on reading, and rarely put into practice any of the helpful and well-thought-out activities that the (presumably) wise authors so generously put forth. In fact, I usually skip that part altogether, rushing through it all so that I can get my next hit: the next big answer, the “A-HA!” moment.
There. I’ve said it out loud. I am sitting in my local coffee shop exhaling a huge (and embarrassed) sigh of relief.
‘Fessing Up
Four years ago I never would have been able to admit this secret. What’s happened since then? Well, where do I start…what hasn’t happened since then? One husband, three jobs, one daughter and her two surgeries, a herniated disk, 20 lbs, and approximately 7,300 cigarettes… to name a few. I know you’re judging me about the cigarettes – it’s OK, I would too, but since this is a confession, I might as well get it all out in the open, right? Besides, if you’re anything like me, in a minute you’ll be beating yourself up for judging me in the first place, and stuffing the emotion down into the recesses, where the other “not-so-nice-and-not-very-enlightened” thoughts go. Or, who knows, maybe you are enlightened, in which case you’re probably one of those enlightened people who finds humor (of the compassionate sort, that is) in the suffering of others. Because, let’s face it, most of the time our own dramas are quite amusing – or at least we can look at them that way, after the fact.
As I’ve traveled the long and winding seeker’s path I’ve collected quite a few beautiful quotes, friends, bruises and pearls of wisdom (and yes, on some days I do liken myself to swine). I’ve also learned a lot about myself and others in the process. But if I’m really (painfully, wholeheartedly) honest with myself, I’d have to say that I have no idea if my life would be any different if I hadn’t started on this quest for self-knowledge in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, I have found a tremendous amount of solace and wisdom in this pursuit, but let’s face it – life happens and we are all inevitably changed (and hopefully evolved) by it. Maybe all this seeking is a kind of self fulfilling circle jerk that I entertain myself with as life happens. Or maybe not.
The first step is admitting you have a problem…
Which brings me back to the confession at hand: I can’t stop. Even though I have found some remarkable answers and have incredibly altered the experience of my life in a positive way – I keep seeking, and seeking, and seeking…ad nauseum. So the question that has become even more relevant for me lately is: Am I an addict?
My husband likes to say to me “There’s nothing wrong” when he catches me in binge mode, with a growing pile of books on my latest obsession, whatever it may be. He’s right. But I resent the insinuation that “something wrong” is in any way associated or driving my latest foray into understanding life’s mysteries. At the same time, I feel a bit ashamed, like I should hide my little quest from those who see it as a bunch of nonsense, or the “opiate of the masses”. Then I realize it’s really me, judging me (damn it). If I had only done that Buddhist awareness exercise on observing the inner critic, and non-identifying, I wouldn’t be engaged in this silly argument with myself right now.
I think if I became enlightened, I might just die. I know it sounds childish – but really, what fun is eternal bliss? Is that really living? The title of Jack Kornfield’s book, After the Ecstasy, The Laundry, pretty much sums up my quest for meaning and understanding. I have experienced some pretty far-out stuff in my travels through the mystic murkiness of my psyche and the universe, but eventually the miraculous becomes the mundane. It’s human nature. The subtle paradox of it all is that often the mundane is truly miraculous, but only when I’m present to witness it, or better yet, be with it. And all this seeking, well, for me it serves as the vehicle, in its multitude of forms and paths, for me to remember that.
The other day my three-year-old daughter was bouncing off the walls (I think she secretly steals sips from my coffee tumbler when I’m not looking, but I haven’t actually caught her yet). So my husband and I sat down on the floor with her in a circle, and joined hands. “We’re going to play a new game,” we said, “one where we close our eyes, and just feel our breathing.” So we did, and she sat quietly for at least five minutes. Then she calmly leaned over and kissed my husband’s hand very softly, and giggled. We opened our eyes, “I kissed you!!” she said, beaming. My eyes teared up. The miraculous in the mundane.
So I know that suffering leads to introspection and the search for greater understanding and meaning, at least for most of us. But I’d like to suggest that “seeking” as we know it is more than just a quest to alleviate the pain of life, or a search for something better than the perfection of exactly where we are right now. I believe we are the manifestation of the Universe/God/Consciousness, finding and exploring itself. It’s only natural that this same quest for knowledge is as crucial to our experience as is breathing.
To risk sounding trite, the journey truly is the destination.
With that said, I think I’m going to start a new support group. “Seekers and Proud Of It.” And screw the anonymity part of it – I’m coming out, as the old familiar song goes. Expression is integral to the process, in fact, it IS the process. Here, I’ll go first:
“Hi. My name is Monika and I’m a seeker. My last fix was about 20 minutes ago – and I feel an overwhelming compulsion to share it with you.”
. . . . . . .
Photo courtesy of moriza.
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