The most important thing is remembering the most important thing. Suzuki Roshi
Seven decades of life is enough for huge amounts of content to accumulate in the memory. How much of it is really important or necessary? If I forget a decade or two does it matter? Are there events or people who simple demand to be remembered? This blog is an attempt to string the beads of memory with just the right odds and ends to make sense of it all.
So what IS the most important thing? I started at the beginning – all I really know is my direct experience of existing. I sleep, I dream and I awake. I feel sensations and I’m aware of thoughts. There is an impression of an ‘I’ who exists in an external reality that is not me. I’ve devoted plenty of time to seeking an answer to the question ‘Who am I?’ Its a good question, but no answer is forthcoming.
From a young age I’ve been intrigued by the notion of God. This notion has morphed from a paternalistic wise man in the sky into an idea that ‘God’ is everywhere in everything forever. Its totally dualistic, I admit, but seems to include my actual experience – there is self and there is other.
How to proceed? If God is everywhere then ‘other’ is as good a description as any. The next step must be prayer – calling out, voicing acceptance and awe would seem appropriate. But if the ‘everywhere and everything’ definition applies then surely God is also in the ‘I’ that is calling out. Just searching outside myself would seem to be a denial of the I that is searching. Prayer became much deeper – a harmonization to be known in silence. Could there be a knowing that is not dualistic?
One technique in the above direction has been to de-clutter my life. I live in a single room. I have rid myself of most of a lifelong accumulation of stuff. Secondly, I have let go of numerous responsibilities related to job, hobbies, obligations and addictions. Some of this was enforced by health issues – I can no longer run, or even walk for long distances. This leaves me surrounded by massive amounts of empty time and space; which is in stark contrast to most of the world around me.
A long time ago I was privileged to attend a lecture by the great sage, Krishnamurti. He stood on a single stage under a spreading banyan tree, dressed all in white with his silver hair matching the crescent moon above him. He talked about meditation and order – the value of creating inner space to appreciate what is truly sacred. Turns out its not the easy path one might suppose. There exist voices in my head clamouring for meaning. What is the point of my life? Shouldn’t I be achieving something? Don’t I need more money? Am I missing out? Perhaps these voices belong more truly to other people. Silence has its appeal.
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