Boredom? Really?

FOREVER slow on the uptake, I've only recently fully realised why my mother gave me a copy of Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene for my eighth birthday.

It was because I had learned the word “boring” at school a few months before.

When I tried it out at home, I suddenly found myself with a cup of water in one hand and an old toothbrush in the other, cleaning the bathroom from floor to ceiling, a task that engaged me from around four o’clock that afternoon until close to six. It gave me time to reflect on my mother’s tirade about boredom being the symptom of a “slovenly” mind, and, she told me: “you are not going to waste your life trying to be an imbecile,” adding, perhaps ambiguously: “Don’t miss the bits in the corners.” Boredom, to her, was a self-inflicted disengagement with life.

I used the word “boring” within her earshot only once again… a year or two later, totally unthinkingly. I hadn’t even meant it. It artlessly “slipped out” in my unguarded “how was school?” reply. Again, I was compelled to some introspection with a toothbrush in the bathroom. I never saw it again, but I’d bet that she put that toothbrush away safely somewhere in case it was ever a needed again.

By then, though, I wasn’t finding school “boring”… rather, I think I’d forgotten the real meaning of boredom. The Faerie Queene had me in thrall. It’s not a book “for kids” and my mother, herself a teacher, obviously knew that. It was written in 1596 in early English for heaven’s sake. And it is all about grown-up lust and violence and courage, cruelty, faith, truth and virtue, about deceit, deception and self sacrifice… a metaphorical working out, through poetically articulated fairy tales of chivalry, of life’s enduring moral conflicts. And the “v”s are all written as “u”s… it’s stuff beyond any eight year old’s comprehension. But it flooded my imagination for life.

I guess it began after I started throwing out words like “wondrous”, “soothly” and “betide”, and calling the sun “Phoebus” — stuff that made teachers blink. I had a small coterie of friends who’d all talk the talk and get into “knightly” rough and tumble in the playground, at the beach and wherever else we got together to play. We had words no-one else had… I looked up their meanings in the glossary at the back of Spenser’s book. We were a movement, pledged to imagined arts of chivalry. We picked playground “giusts” with boys with “lumpish heads” who failed to meet our standards by pushing around “faire”, “milde” or “innocent” girls or telling “guileful” lies. We were severe but comical pains in the butt.

But we were never bored. We were always on quests for “adventure”. We lived vividly in a transformed world at the edge of craziness. And the problem was that so much of Spenser’s allegory expresses of the sorts of “truth”, conflicts, failings and qualities we discover within ourselves

As I said, my mother was a teacher. Her classrooms generally brought together a mix of cultures: pakeha (New Zealand European), Maori, Pacific Island and sometimes English, Dutch and Asian children, new immigrants. She had syllabuses to work to, but bent rules, I know, to fire the curiosity of kids who seemed a bit left out or were falling behind. And, when I was rather older and studying psychology and anthropology at university, we’d talk about things like cultural influences and the way people think. By that time, she had moved on and was working with the ethnology department of the big regional museum.

She was a complicated, intelligent and demanding person who would incisively put her finger on things she saw obstructing human fulfillment and goodness. Boredom in her view was, I learned, not just about a “slovenly” mind. It was about an obnoxiously ill-mannered, lazy and immaturely self-focused mind. It was a cowardly refusal to explore anything beyond the boundaries of one’s own immediate preoccupations. Its cure was curiosity, and firing curiosity was, to her, the first obligation of a teacher. Curiosity is what feeds and grows the “self”… not times tables and the alphabet: curiosity makes the “self” interesting enough to live with. And the truth in The Faerie Queen is that it resonates with the inner struggles of bringing one’s “self” to maturity.

Boredom, my mother would say, is a dereliction of that struggle.

Boredom seems to be a peculiarly “modern” mood. It first appeared in literature in 1852: several times, in Charles Dickens' Bleak House.The expression “to be a bore” apparently turn up about 100 years earlier. Recent research has connected boredom with cultural variables and gender, attention spans and depression. And it’s been linked to a host of psychological physical, educational, and social problems including depression.

Boredom seems to have had a lot to do with the odd angst of Ivan Chtcheglov. The son of a taxi-driving Ukrainian revolutionary father and a French mother, he was a perfect candidate for the toothbrush. He won some notoriety when a fit of ennui drove him and a friend to try to “deconstruct” the Eiffel Tower with stolen dynamite because “its light kept them awake at night.” For five years following his failed attempt on the Paris landmark, he was confined to a mental hospital and died in 1998.

As a political theorist, activist and poet, Chtcheglov inspired several small, volatile, left-wing avant-garde groups like the Lettrist International and the Situationist International: left-wing cliques of exclusivist, squabbling and egocentric artist-intellectuals. “We are bred in the city, there is no longer any Temple of the Sun,” Chtcheglov declared in 1953. “A mental disease has swept the planet: banalization,” he wrote with characteristic portentiousness. “Presented with the alternative of love or a garbage disposal unit, young people of all countries have chosen the garbage disposal unit.”

Then, in the late 1960s, the Situationists coined a Chtcheglovian slogan: “The society that abolishes every adventure makes its own abolition the only possible adventure.” It was an augury of punk that reappeared on a banner under which members of the “Reclaim the Streets” movement partied when they shut down London’s M41 motorway in 1996. But is was not society but their own timidity, laziness, lack of imagination and extreme presumptions of entitlement that denied these listless souls “adventure”.

The thing that shines most vividly from Chtcheglov’s intellectual legacy is its self-pitying, ineffective pointlessness. A few attempts at penetrating observation float off to die alone and incompletely understood in voids of self-absorption, all for want of a toothbrush and a cup of water.

My mother would have sorted out Martin Heidegger. He associated boredom with waiting at train stations. “So walk, you fool,” I can hear my mother sharply snap. A couple of hours in our bathroom, and he’d have prised his head from his navel and the world would never have heard his pronouncement that: "profound boredom, drifting here and there in the abysses of our existence like a muffling fog, removes all things and men and oneself along with it into a remarkable indifference. This boredom reveals being as a whole.” What a wuss. It seems to me he missed a bit in the corner too.

Baudelaire blamed society's corruption for inflicting boredom on sensitive souls. My mother would have blamed Baudelaire. Schopenhauer described boredom as a “tame longing without any particular object”, while to Dostoevsky it was “a bestial and indefinable affliction”. Erich Fromm viewed boredom — “perhaps the most important source of aggression and destructiveness today” — as a psychological response to industrial society that locks us into alienated labour. A Canadian classicist, Peter Toohey, has countered that boredom is “a timeless universal human emotion” that impels us to art and literature. “Stuff it… I think I’ll write a novel,” one can imagine Tolstoy grunting as he launched himself into page one of War And Peace. Author Elizabeth Goodstein says that, although boredom seems embedded in the human condition, it’s linked to ways of thinking about our existence and experiencing time that reflect a specifically modern “crisis of meaning”.

Boredom has certainly become the bane of modern and postmodern society. It seems to have a way of surfacing wherever societies suffered self-inflicted surfeits of wealth: it drove Roman emperors mad. But, while the likes of Caligula could express their cravings for heightened stimulation in “real life” by engaging with high-risk abandon in real violence and extreme experience, boredom merely scums our social interfaces as an appetite for simulation and depictions of fantastical activity. It sustains a stupendously lucrative market for “entertainment” and titillation.

It leads us over the rainbow to a place where consequences scarcely exist, a kind of nowhere zone that is far safer, less demanding and less disappointing than reality, but also less satisfying. Life takes on the characteristics of an air guitar: the only place we get to live out our fantasies in is our heads because the fantasies are, in real life, beyond us: untenable and inexpressible. And, shorn of consequence, they lead nowhere. But, so demanding does real life seem by comparison that the temptation is to let our imaginations shrivel like vacuum packaging around the simulations.

Entertainment is a form of transcendence, but it’s one that persistently reminds us of our own ineffectiveness. It mocks us, and what else can we do but glaze over?

On the other hand, the transcendence that comes from within, rising sharp, bright and scary out of real life, changes us, often dramatically; it brings us to life: vivid real life. And, when we are changed, our world is changed.

Real life is not in the least boring, yet the amount of time spent in front of computer and television screens is rising.

Different studies produce varied estimates but a good idea of what’s going on was given by the U.S. ratings service Nielsen in May 2008. It reported that the average American was then spending a little over four hours a day locked in communion with a television set (127 hours and 15 minutes a month) and another 26 hours, 26 minutes a month working out online: together, on average, that’s five hours of electronically delivered inputs a day: one third of a healthy waking human life, or 75 full, 24-hour days a year. A 2010 Canadian study of high school students found their average daily screen time was about seven hours: more than 100 days of the year. If work and commuting take up nine hours a day, and sleep a healthy eight, and another seven hours are spent staring at a screen… that leaves no time at all for family, for preparing and eating food, for keeping fit, for getting to know friends and neighbours, for smelling the roses… for silence and solitude, for contemplation and reflection. Something’s wrong here …entertainment has become THE thing, and the most damaging, hurtful accusation that can be hurled at a person, a place, an event or an activity is that it’s “boring”.

Young backpackers, eagerly looking forward to taking a gap year to explore “the world”, were surveyed by TNT Magazine Travel Show 2008. Asked what they rated as the most essential item to take with them, 32 per cent of these intrepid would-be adventurers (mindful of the acute danger of travel-tedium) chose their iPods. That a first aid kit might come in handy, just in case, occurred to a mere two per cent of them.

An unfortunate thing about entertainment media is the way that the experience has to keep intensifying to hold the interest of its quickly jaded heavy users. It works precisely like a drug addiction: each “fix” needs a bigger kick to keep up with the craving.

So, in just over 50 years, “horror” movies have progressed from the whimsical absurdity of a giant radioactive octopus in It Came From Beneath the Sea (1955) to the graphic sexual torture of films like Eli Roth’s Hostel (called “a sadistic freak show” by one of the film’s more charitable reviewers)… while electronic games have gone from William Higginbotham’s innocent Tennis for Two game of 1958 to Nintendo’s Mad World that lets players rip enemies’ hot, pulsating hearts from their chests, hack them apart with chainsaws and impale them on road signs… all on the “family friendly” Wii console. Entertainment is fraught in this way with the characteristics of addiction. And the boredom deepens.

Genrich Krasko, an American physicist and author of This Unbearable Boredom of Being, sees boredom as one of the most burning problems of today's America: crime, drugs, greed, ugly gender polarization, disintegration of family, decay in morals, racism, and so on, are the direct consequences of a crisis of meaning that has engulfed America.

Krasko, is a fan and follower of the late Dr Viktor Frankl: a psychiatrist, psychologist, philosopher and Holocaust survivor who, in The Unheard Cry for Meaning, wrote: “For too long we have been dreaming a dream from which we are now waking up: the dream that if we just improve the socioeconomic situation of people, everything will be okay, people will become happy. The truth is that as the struggle for survival has subsided, the question has emerged: survival for what? Ever more people today have the means to live, but no meaning to live for.”

And, in Man’s Search for Ultimate Meaning: “Unlike an animal, man is no longer told by drives and instincts what he must do. And in contrast to man in former times, he is no longer told by traditions and values what he should do. Now, knowing neither what he must do nor what he should do, he sometimes does not even know what he basically wishes to do. Instead, he wishes to do what other people do... or he does what other people wish him to do...”

It’s time to pull out of the nosedive.

But what can one person do?

THERE are days when it seems that nothing is going very well.

Life on Earth’s become a succession of crises and catastrophes; climate change is ramping up in the shape of floods, storms and extinctions, crime is everywhere, half the world’s at war, new diseases are afoot, everyone’s ungrateful, our hopes are unravelling and we’re working our butts off to support a system that sucks. And, whilst we’re bound in servitude to “The Economy”, humanity, the world and even our front lawns all seem to be sliding into voids beyond our reach and not of our making.

Well, there are plenty of alternatives to the way we’re living if we want something different. And there are ways to change the society we’re living in; we are not powerless.

Some 6,000 different cultures have managed to survive on the planet: proven, historically-tested options, ideas and choices.

The big problem for us, many agree, is “The Economy”. But even “The Economy”, thankfully, is vulnerable. And, around the world innumerable small, medium and large-sized activist organisations are steadfastly promoting values and actions that challenge the social and political droit de seigneur the “The Economy” enjoys.

Besides, there are not in fact all that many beneficiaries of “The Economy”: though the super-rich wield tremendous power, they’re vastly outnumbered by their victims and underlings and — as every drug baron knows — life at the top of the cartel is hardly one of settled contentment.

Mahatma Gandhi’s advice was to “be the change” you want to see. It works. It is one of the few ways that does. And that is what many of those activists are doing.

Politicians can’t do much for us. We’re quick to blame them but it’s our volatility, impatience and self-interest that leave most politicians in positions of impotence: as apologists, punch-bags or scapegoats for the latest machinations of “The Economy”.

What is “The Economy”?

It’s a vortex of all the capricious impulses and narrow self-interests that run through a community at large, within which every dollar counts as one vote and every vote is quickly cancelled out by half a dozen others. And the dollars, of course, have no stable value or absolute worth… every one of them is a notional entity. “The Economy”, as we have come to know and loathe it, is a drunken, stumbling, capricious, out-of-control caricature of the credulity and greed of its participants… a burlesque of human failings. And we, the butt of all its parodies, cling to it all the more desperately when it offers us the most transparent views of our inanity.

“The Economy” feeds and clothes us? Well, some of us more than others. Others get very little, hardly any at all, and a rare few get mansions and big cars that leave them in almost as much need of anti-depressants as the ones who get hardly anything. It’s an arrangement that cultivates envy, cupidity and resentment.

“The Economy” ridicules our artless jealousies by parading before us our envy-laden tolerance for vast “bonuses” being uplifted by people who have just pulled spectacular failures out of the hat: failures that dumped other people out of homes, jobs and opportunities. Yet neither the bonus recipients nor the disemployed can explain it… it all just kind of happened.

“The Economy” is a faith system, a religious movement whose high priests bow in fear to the “invisible hand” and speak in tongues of greed, stupidity and computer modelling.

Prostrated before their wisdom, we allow currency and commodity speculators — gamblers – to profit-take from trading relationships and generate cost fluctuations that can result in starvation, destabilisation and even war. We endure accounting standards that hide the full environmental and social costs of resource exploitation. We have come to see usury, exploitative employment practices, manipulative marketing and extortionate pricing as inseparable from “economic freedom”. We have come to see that there are two distinct types of human being: those in whom massive rewards must be “invested” as “incentives” to ensure their productivity; and those who must receive minimal rewards so that they do not get lazy, and to ensure that costs are controlled.

Then, as if any of this makes sense, we join in choruses to oppose taxation (which delivers returns in things like education, social security, justice and infrastructure) but, the next instant, will throw money into voids of no return at lottery ticket outlets and casinos.

It gets far more extreme than that. Canada is not alone in having been persuaded to go to war out of  “economic considerations”. Think about that for a moment. It makes scarcely any sense at all, yet it gets believed. The “traumatic stress” to young people who are placed “in harm’s way” (as they say) is less of a concern than compromising the economic  “goodwill” of an “ally” who has a habit of making its economic incapacities ever more spectacularly visible. We’re talking about killing and maiming young human beings, sons and daughters, as sacrifices to a god that can’t and won’t deliver.

Face it: “The Economy” is failing. “Economic considerations” are piloting us all towards catastrophe… if it’s your dream to be filthy rich and you’re not already filthy rich, forget it: the odds are you’re not going to make it. You owe “The Economy” nothing. Every day it ploughs under more and more of the world that’s your grandchildren’s birthright. They will experience a wasteland. And we simply do not have the resources of the multiple planet Earths that it will take to sustain levels of consumption as they are right now.

So how do we start corralling “The Economy”?

We start by getting sensible. We start by getting to know ourselves better than we do and interacting more constructively with the people around us.

We need to bolster our faith in our political system, making democracy a higher priority, as we start wresting it from the control of “The Economy”. The launch pad for this is a committed re-appraisal of some of our own personal values.

As we incorporate into our own lives values we say others should hold dear we will see, through our happier eyes, a gradual re-orientation of society… close at hand to start with, then radiating outwards. It doesn’t happen overnight but neither does it take forever.

And it sure as hell does not take “The Economy” to sustain us… that is an illusion.

Of course, we need food and shelter and all sorts of products we can’t stitch together in our back-to-earth cottage co-operatives from recycled disposable diapers… but it’s networks of human relationship that provide for our needs, not “The Economy”.

“The Economy” has gone altogether too far in subverting and taking over these networks, turning them into cold-blooded struggles for control, disengaged from sustaining reciprocities. “Fair trade” initiatives seek to introduce some sense of mutual interest and greater moral responsibility into the relationship between a supplier and a consumer. It is good sense to see a transaction as a reciprocal investment by each party in the other party’s survival, future and vitality; simple supply and demand thinking doesn’t run to that. Some corporate organisations have made gestures in the “fair trade” direction too, and they are to be greatly encouraged (if less than wholly believed). “Green” has become a cynical con in many contexts, but it’s not entirely without value.

Hypocrisy, it’s worth bearing in mind, has an “up”-side. When a hypocrite speaks, he or she can thereafter be challenged to make good his or her pretensions of virtue… or at least reminded of them.

It’s far from woolly-headed idealism to say that moderating our consumption at a personal level has a critical effect. It’s a first step of trust in ourselves, and, as such, it steals ground from the “greed, stupidity and computer modelling” guys.  And that’s a step towards getting “The Economy” into a cage of reason rather than superstition, and transforming it into something new that serves us instead of controlling us.

Each step beyond that first one takes us towards a greater trust in each other and further loosens the hold “The Economy” has on our lives. As communities strengthen their bases of reciprocity, the more able and ready they are to enter into wider-ranging reciprocities. It’s about the way we interact with each other… like drug barons or like friends.

Friends are easier to get along with.

And they’re less likely to place your children “in harm’s way”.




Also see:


Economic history in a teacup


The Stupid Economy


The Stupid Economy -- part 2

Looking for "truth"

YEARS ago, in a psychology seminar, I was asked: What are the next three numbers in the following set: minus-2…  0… 2…? — and, the instructions went, work out the rule behind the sequence, test your hypothesis by suggesting a few sets of numbers, then tell us when you’ve got it.

Our lecturer said she’d tell me whether I was right or wrong, then let me know when I’d worked out the rule correctly.

Me (thinking, ‘this is sooo beneath me’): “4… 6… 8?”

Correct.

Me (remembering where I am, and suspecting a trick): “8… 10… 12?”

Correct.

 Me (gaining confidence): “20… 22… 24?”

Correct.

“Ahhm… it's an ascending sequence of three even numbers?”

Wrong.

Me: “Add two each time?”

Wrong.

Me (losing it…): “There’s got to be a negative number?”

No. Wrong.

Ummm… wrong?

I gave up. The rule was simple, simpler than I’d been prepared to think. It was: any succession of ascending numbers. They didn’t have to be even numbers; there could be any gap between them and there didn’t have to be three of them.

Once I’d fixed the idea of twos and even numbers in my head, in sets of three, I hadn't thought of challenging my assumption to see whether I might be wrong; my rule described what I heard. I’d let my mind blank out other possibilities. Once I’d seen a pattern, I’d locked in, stuck with it and the more affirmation I got, the more confident I got. And my dread of smart-ass little tests like this, especially when they’re sprung on me out of the blue, encouraged me to cling to what I’d thought was my way out. To then be told I was wrong in front of the class… well, that pissed me off, to be honest.

Most of us fall into the same trap… try it out on someone.

The topic of that seminar was stereotyping. And, by the time it was over, I’d been persuaded that the stereotypes I’d formed about other people had nothing to do with other people… like my leap to end the sequence puzzle, they were my untested assumptions, all mine, and they were dangerous.

BUT it’s far bigger than that. Our culture has fanned innate inclinations to see patterns, seek order and attach ourselves to predictability wherever we think we see it; we crave predictability, we are easily bilked by fortune tellers and betting “systems”, and the simple logic of cause and effect suits us very nicely. As a species, we’ve spent most of our relatively short history as hunter-gatherers, depending on regularly cycling seasons and the predictable habits and habitats of prey. We’ve inhabited a food chain in which indecision can be fatal.

It was a way of life, relying on a few perceptual skills, quick reactions, teamwork and sharp weapons, together with a bit of luck, that’s left us too impatient for results, overly eager for immediate answers, too quick to conform and too easily led into simplified two-dimensional worlds of false dichotomies and persuasively closed categories. And we get pissed off far too easily when things don’t meet our expectations.

We define categories by their apparent boundaries, forgetting that the boundaries are our inventions… the reality is that, far more than categories, the world we know is typically composed of continuities and their interconnections. Reality’s not a production line; it’s more like a weaving-in-progress.

Few categories have unbreached boundaries; almost all are blurred. Despite its having tried, biology has produced no boundary markers for race. “Race” is an illusion… a false category made of sloppy thought and careless stereotyping. There is sexual differentiation but there’s no gender “gap” either. Sexual differentiation is a physiological continuum. Species are nowhere near as clearly defined as once they were thought to be. For various reasons, medical diagnoses (and the prognoses based on them, of course) are notoriously unreliable. The closer we look at the world we think we know, the fewer boundaries we find and, blunder by blunder, we come to see that “clear” differences are usually mistaken, culturally discerned and constructed, and exaggerated.

Then, when we go looking for enduring certainty and solid permanence, we discover that everything is in motion. The seasons cycle, we age and die, new lives begin, our cultures come and go, new ideas replace old ones, species and empires rise and then vanish. Our little blue planet — with its history of climatic, magnetic and atmospheric variability — rotates daily as it circles around the sun at a speed of 30 kilometres a second. And the sun, in turn, is traveling at more than 15 kilometres a second around the centre of the Milky Way, carrying us with it. Our Milky Way galaxy is, at the same time, moving at a speed of around 600 kilometres per second against the background radiation of the expanding universe. Where it’s headed, nobody really knows

Meanwhile, back on Earth, tectonic plates are shifting, bumping and grinding into each other, at average speeds of between two and ten centimetres a year, inexorably changing the shapes and elevations of continents and islands… all of our cities, towns and creations will one day be erased: their ruins sunken under oceans and subductions of the Earth’s crust, or heaved and broken upwards to form mountain ranges.

And, when we turn to cause and effect for consolation, we discover that a cause usually involves coincidences of many circumstances, each with its own sets of causes, while an “effect” embraces a range of outcomes, some bad, some good.

There are no stationary points… and we are fleeting. Even our sun, five billion years old, is expected to burn out in another five billion years but, long before then, it is certain that humans will have vanished from the Earth.

So where, amongst all of the continuities, undivided measures and constant motion that reality provides, not to mention the assurance of extinction, do we locate ourselves, and find our own being?  Our own being is our entire universe because we exist only to the extent that we allow ourselves to. To fully exist, we need to discover and explore of our own existential truth… all of it, if we can.

There’s no one single truth statement: even if its essence was reducible to one single little word, where would you find two “selfs” who’d understand it the same way? Truth is a river, a flow… a dynamic that resolves, not in one time or place, but everywhere, at all times and forever. It is both closer and further away than our “good sense” allows. Does it exist? Of course it does. Can I tell you what it is? Only truth itself can do that.

We find “our” truth in the gap that lies between who we are and what we experience. We are engaged, like it or not, in an exchange of life for experience. That process of exchange is the “eternal” truth. That’s the deal. And, ultimately, we do it alone. If that’s frightening to you, you haven’t understood. It’s what we’ve each been born to.

My wife is my dearest, most closely known reality: my closest companion and my most preoccupying, most complex, best known and certainly most deeply loved realm of reality — but I can not know for sure what even she experiences as real, nor can I experience it in the same way, no matter how close we are. And, no matter how much we share or how deeply, our real worlds remain uniquely our own. None of us comes to be fully known by another person, nor any other person by us.

We’re all inclined to take a tour bus approach to our “selves”: a bit of affirmation-seeking sightseeing by day, followed by some familiar food and a cosy bed at night… we know what we like. But affirmation tells me nothing: affirmation is how pet take over people’s lives. The comfort of affirmation anaesthetises me against reality; it helps to dig me deeper into whatever holes of ego-absorption I’ve fallen into… 2, 4, 6, 8… perhaps it’s time to hesitate?

My “self” needs to be prodded and pushed into being. So, I TRY to read a proportion of books that contradict my thinking or lie on the edges of my interests. And, as opportunities come along, I love to plunge into unfamiliar experiences, places, cultures, food, music, ideas…  I do all I can to stoke the flames of my curiosity: to me, curiosity is a moral imperative.

Without curiosity, I can’t imagine being able to achieve the emergence of self that meets and meshes with experience in encounters with truth. And I need those encounters… I think we all do. Truth is our place of liberation… a kind of spiritual release that feels a bit like that last thrust of the plunger that clears the pipe and drains away the gurgling sink-full of tired, grey, dirty dishwater. Then we experience the feeling of filling with freshness and peace and energy.

We know that it’s true because it rings with an unalloyed voice that impels us to strength, purpose and fulfillment; it’s a new day and we’re not entirely sure why, but with feel in love with life… and we somehow are made to know we're worthwhile in ways that don’t forever sniff after us for affirmation. We sense a blossoming being released through us, a fitness of intention and effort, an awareness of meaning.

To have traction on life’s journey, it’s essential to have some guiding principle in mind, some sense of quest, a vision. That’s what our “truth” enables. That’s what it’s for.

To experience our truth is to become woven into the one certainty we can lean on for reassurance: that all of the majestic motion around us is what brought us into being. It fills us with the curiosity to learn about its workings, and rewards that curiosity with apprehensions of beauty and awe that become growing points... like buds after winter.

So how do we reach that point of realisation?

That it’s to be expected doesn’t stop most us from spending an awful lot of a lifetime making mistakes of one sort or another. So it’s not a good idea to patter along, puppy-like, after somebody else because, from where you are, you’ll have no way of knowing whether that other person is making a mistake or a discovery. Similarly, we don’t arrive at our truth by reading holy books or self-help guides, anymore than we understand the differences between, say, Marakesh and Kobe by reading travel guides. It’s not a “head” thing, or an information thing. It has to be lived. The travel guides can certainly help… but it’s being there that changes your life.

And, because the way we “are” is of such consequence to other people, we have an absolute responsibility to undertake the journey.

All I can offer is an observation: in the case of my own journey, I have found the most present, most steadfast and most usefully communicative beacon to be beauty. And I have always found my way into its beam by following my curiosity.

Truth is the source of beauty’s light, the light itself, and all that the light illumines.

And it shines everywhere.




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Also see:
Connections