As I sit in my little room, the morning sunlight gently warming my face, I realize once again there is more than a passive contemplation of the universe, there is the human engagement and interaction with it. The lines of age and worry that I see, reflected in my computer screen, remind me of harder times, even for someone as privileged as I am. I have not been pursued, persecuted or driven from my home, my children do not lie dead upon a beach in a foreign land but the consciousness of any living human being can be afflicted, overwhelmed, brought down, if not by major tragedy then by the constant minor notes of frustration, irritation, ailments, the subtle leitmotifs of pain, even ennui acts as another weight upon the heart.
But the opposite, the yang to the yin, is ever present too. The veil of Maya can be swept aside, the beauty, the crack and fire of delight, the eternal newness of seeing can open like an expanse before us at any time, in any place. Naivety of spirit is the hope that drives evolution, we are temporal creatures, made of and created in time. It may be eternally recurrent, we may be without linear direction but within, time is the sea, upon which we rest. We can choose contemplation, stasis, pain or be borne in directions we neither desire nor command but every now and then the wind picks up and we set sail once more into the sparkling void, the empty fullness of the uncreated universe.
We are able sometimes too, to make our futures, make our dreams and visions appear before us, concrete and virtual, plastic and motionless. These islands of respite in the oceans of meaninglessness are the art and science of being human. Glory in the sun, glory in the depth and timeless spaces of consciousness, for we are human, we are the living world, we are existence.
But the opposite, the yang to the yin, is ever present too. The veil of Maya can be swept aside, the beauty, the crack and fire of delight, the eternal newness of seeing can open like an expanse before us at any time, in any place. Naivety of spirit is the hope that drives evolution, we are temporal creatures, made of and created in time. It may be eternally recurrent, we may be without linear direction but within, time is the sea, upon which we rest. We can choose contemplation, stasis, pain or be borne in directions we neither desire nor command but every now and then the wind picks up and we set sail once more into the sparkling void, the empty fullness of the uncreated universe.
We are able sometimes too, to make our futures, make our dreams and visions appear before us, concrete and virtual, plastic and motionless. These islands of respite in the oceans of meaninglessness are the art and science of being human. Glory in the sun, glory in the depth and timeless spaces of consciousness, for we are human, we are the living world, we are existence.
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