The self is a bundle of contradictions. We want, we get, we want something else.
Suppose I had all the things I wanted when I was ten years old; every material possession, every physical and mental attribute, friendship with my favorite characters and heroes on TV and in the movies, the most fun games and toys. Who would I have become at 11? And suppose I had all the things I wanted when I was 25; a PhD, the perfect job, the ideal mate, the gorgeous home? Who would I have been at 26? Thirty five is an even greater mystery. At thirty five I wanted to penetrate this world, to find out what was on the other side, to taste consciousness of another flavor. Suppose I attained this desire. Who would I have aspired to become when I 36?
Beneath it all there is another want that is difficult to name. It disguises itself in a matrix of physicality where pleasure and pain are avenues that merge on a boulevard toward inevitable death. When you let go of mundane desires you discover a grander, more celestial desire. I am in the process of surrendering to that desire.
On the surface it seems that this desire is in conflict with life itself. We often think of conflict as a bad thing, an unpleasant experience that requires choice, selecting one perspective or opportunity over another. It does not need to be that way.
Here I am, seemingly trapped in this physical body and held within the boundaries of self consciousness. Not so, for within this self consciousness there is a spark, a memory that is distant and mysterious. It is one of plurality, of being beyond the state of oneness.
The self is a condition of continual wanting. The soul is an experience of perpetual having. Give the self what it wants, and it will want something else. What it truly wants is to be united with soul.
What about soul? If it already has all that it wants and needs, why this desire to surrender to individuality?
Perhaps the soul in its state of perpetual having is simply having an experience of self, an individual mission that cannot be completely understood within the context of that self.
The self has a mission, and each one is unique. I came here almost sixty years ago with a mission, but the mission is still not completely clear. I have discovered, however, that there is a relationship between my wants and desires and my mission. Desire is a queer thing. What one wants does not come in a complete package. It isn’t as though they came in a bundle that was scattered, and it has become my task to identify and experience them. I’ve discovered that you cannot collect what was not contained. Desires come in sequences and cycles. They have contingencies and build upon one another, and sometimes there is no way to predict a future want.
An irony in the concept of self is that desires often come from outside of self. They come from other people, their influence, their shared experience. The mystery of attraction is worth contemplating. How does the company you keep influence your desire? How do you influence the company you keep? What brings the greatest happiness, the greatest contentment? Is there a balance between mundane, physical desires and spiritual desires?
When I think back on my life, it was the periods of balance that brought me everything I wanted.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
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