To Cal's comment on "Anxiety" from yesterday's blog: Heck, you can write what you want! It's fine to be on the "sunny side," which is often the case with my own disposition. I have no corner on ultimate truth - rather, I write with the authority of those I have read, often using their opinions as my own for a better exposition. For instance, Singh, author of the book on dying that was written of a few months ago, insists that we all go through a catastrophic trauma at or near death, where we lose everything, even hope, before we come to rest in a greater sense of self and meaning. No one of human make, as far as her experience goes, escapes this descent into hell. Thomas Merton in some respects goes even further: even one's pieties are fake. We are separate from the Ground of Being and must suffer the consequences of anxiety, fear, social conformity and disillusion. Without God, we are incomplete and ultimately unhappy. As the Bible says, "man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards."
But there is that pesky Zen axiom again: better not to start; if started, better to finish. Why is it better not to start the path to knowledge? Because, as Merton knows, it is one that is nearly impossible to complete. As such, it is better to live in a fool's paradise - the sunny side - than to fret and worry over our loss of real paradise, often with no other consequences but more worry.
I already began long ago as many have, and cannot stop. This is because, like growing children, we have discovered that Santa Claus, the fool's paradise, is just that, a make-believe. It was nice to believe in Santa. I remember the magic well. But once the truth is discovered, we can't ignore it. Santa - and our fragile belief in self and reality - is a child's myth. On the other hand, it is a far better myth than that of the philosophical anarchists, who see nothing but meaningless blackness. Better to have Santa; if that darkness is as far as you can go; better to have the fool's paradise.
There is more, however, a lot more. For one, some of us enjoy, or at least are compelled, to climb the magic mountain. Like a material mountain, it is difficult and dangerous to climb, but we'd rather be there than safely in our beds at home. It, this seeking, comes from the heart of the explorer. It is in us all, I believe, but perhaps more strongly in some than others. We do not climb the mountain because it is there, but because it tests something within ourselves, ultimately cutting away the debris that clutters our thoughts and lives. Climbing a mountain is approaching the real. It leaves us with frost-bitten toes, but we have found something that needed, that demanded to be found.
In the case of the spiritual mountain, we find that same "real" that, once glimpsed, cannot be pushed away for long. We find that we are a part of a bigger scheme, a part of eternity that goes far beyond piety and axioms. It moves us to the bones. And it moves us to faith, one that may someday take us through the Dark Night and deliver us into heaven.
Or not. We all find ourselves in the same bed on our dying day. Maybe it is best to simply whistle past the graveyard and let the dead bury the dead. Who can look at a man on a frozen cliff, pitons slipping, and envy him? Stay home and be warm and well-fed! Or not, again. We are all called to ultimate fear and loss in that death bed, but few of us can squirm past it, regardless of our past interests. Go march with Louie on the sunny side of the street if that is your preference. It probably will bring you to the same end. But I cannot. The wild winds howl and the starry sky calls, and if that, too, is a fool's errand, then that, too, is no worse than a lifetime at the Mardi Gras. FK
But there is that pesky Zen axiom again: better not to start; if started, better to finish. Why is it better not to start the path to knowledge? Because, as Merton knows, it is one that is nearly impossible to complete. As such, it is better to live in a fool's paradise - the sunny side - than to fret and worry over our loss of real paradise, often with no other consequences but more worry.
I already began long ago as many have, and cannot stop. This is because, like growing children, we have discovered that Santa Claus, the fool's paradise, is just that, a make-believe. It was nice to believe in Santa. I remember the magic well. But once the truth is discovered, we can't ignore it. Santa - and our fragile belief in self and reality - is a child's myth. On the other hand, it is a far better myth than that of the philosophical anarchists, who see nothing but meaningless blackness. Better to have Santa; if that darkness is as far as you can go; better to have the fool's paradise.
There is more, however, a lot more. For one, some of us enjoy, or at least are compelled, to climb the magic mountain. Like a material mountain, it is difficult and dangerous to climb, but we'd rather be there than safely in our beds at home. It, this seeking, comes from the heart of the explorer. It is in us all, I believe, but perhaps more strongly in some than others. We do not climb the mountain because it is there, but because it tests something within ourselves, ultimately cutting away the debris that clutters our thoughts and lives. Climbing a mountain is approaching the real. It leaves us with frost-bitten toes, but we have found something that needed, that demanded to be found.
In the case of the spiritual mountain, we find that same "real" that, once glimpsed, cannot be pushed away for long. We find that we are a part of a bigger scheme, a part of eternity that goes far beyond piety and axioms. It moves us to the bones. And it moves us to faith, one that may someday take us through the Dark Night and deliver us into heaven.
Or not. We all find ourselves in the same bed on our dying day. Maybe it is best to simply whistle past the graveyard and let the dead bury the dead. Who can look at a man on a frozen cliff, pitons slipping, and envy him? Stay home and be warm and well-fed! Or not, again. We are all called to ultimate fear and loss in that death bed, but few of us can squirm past it, regardless of our past interests. Go march with Louie on the sunny side of the street if that is your preference. It probably will bring you to the same end. But I cannot. The wild winds howl and the starry sky calls, and if that, too, is a fool's errand, then that, too, is no worse than a lifetime at the Mardi Gras. FK
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