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Certainty
Ah yes “Certainty” ...
that most comforting of cradles
that lulls us into precarious sleep.
Yet the only constant is change ...
in other words: uncertainty.
Be certain of but one truth:
existence undeniably exists.
Beyond (or before) questioning,
naming, defining, describing,
whether as absolute singularity,
or realm of relative multiplicity,
without even thinking about it,
this eternal moment unfolds.
Best not to waver from there,
or wonder at its providence,
its purpose, origin, or destiny.
Why, what, where, when, how?
And by the way, who’s asking?
Dare we love life’s preciousness,
accept its gifts unconditionally,
just bask in its perfect presence,
and drop the crutch of credence
to embrace the mystery
of our uncertainty.
I’m oh so wary of going down this road ... but here goes nothing.
I’ve never been one for analyzing poetry. It has always seemed a bit like dissecting a butterfly, limb by limb, to discover the secret of what makes it a butterfly. I prefer to leave that to the more left-brained scientists among us ... for what it’s worth.
And one supposes that the same could be said for analyzing ‘truth’
Ed, I love your reply (even twice) especially the words about being authentic, and yes those pesky obstructions. One supposes that to the intellect/ego, anything and everything is arguable, and therefore becomes an obstruction. First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is: another of the mind’s endless parlor tricks. The possible theories, doctrines, philosophies, etc, and the consequential debates, are potentially infinite. Isn’t that what the intellect/ego is all about? Dreaming up obstructions? It seems that it could chase the tail of truth forever, and never really get there, stumbling over those obstructions all the while.
Could it be that all such intellectualizing just leads ever deeper into the dream? Not that there is anything wrong with that, if that is where one feels the need to go, at any given time. After all, the dream is amazing, and can even be very revelatory. But can the intellect ever find a way out? Just as one can use a shovel to dig a hole, once one gets in over one’s head, so to speak, no amount of continued digging, however diligent, will ever get one out of it. Indeed, one never gets to the bottom of it either.
But is it possible to just love this mysterious existence, to just revel in the joy of it, to just accept it and take part in it, indeed to just live it in the moment, without questioning it, dissecting it, debating it, judging it, tampering with it, or pondering it at all? And what would be wrong with that? Or is that just more intellectualizing?
In the end (if there is any end), it seems that which ever path one takes is just perfect. For all paths will lead to where one needs to be, just as all rivers eventually flow to the sea ... or so they say (never having followed every river, I’ll have to take it on faith, lol).
But speaking of rivers, let’s get back to some poetry. As I discovered in one of Rick Archer’s talks with Chuck Hillig, perhaps the most sage spiritual advice one could ever receive can be summed up in a simple childhood song that we all have no doubt heard before:
Row, row, row your boat,
gently down the stream,
merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
life is but a dream.
Until perhaps one comes to a waterfall ... that might be the true test of “letting go.”
Although, of course, there is nothing to let go of, and the waterfall too is just a dream.
cheers
Gautama said "Everything changes. Everything remains."
But his nickname for his son translates to "Obstruction."
We are most authetic when (we think) no one is watching
when (we think) the mike is off.
The truth is the Lazy way, not any work to maintain.
We are always certain of what we hide that might be revealed. But it usually isn't too surprising.
Just a few bubbles. Most of us are fond of a few "obstructions."
(Sorry. I double clicked on this but couldn't figure out how to erase it.)
Yes Peter, I agree, therein is the inevitable paradox ...
certainty of uncertainty = uncertainty of certainty;
the dream exists and yet it doesn't, so too the dreamer;
the absolute is contained in the relative, and vice versa;
the one is inherent within the other ... etc, etc, etc.
More or less, what I was trying to convey in poetry.
Alas, as has been said, the tao is unspeakable:
If one can explain it, that is not IT ...
not even in a poem, or in the response.
And yet that too gives rise to another paradox.
Nonetheless, in lieu of the alternative,
which is absolute silence, one plays with words,
completely at ease with the paradox of it all ...
just gotta love it
peace
Well said.
Which is why I sometimes tell others:
when you take what I say seriously, you honor who I'm not;
and, when you don't, you honor who I am.
You chose who you prefer to honor.
I honor both of you ... absolutely ;-)
"Be certain of but one truth: this dream undeniably exists."
Doesn't this certainty of one truth qualify as a "cradle
that lulls us into precarious sleep" as well?
Even the certainty of uncertainty can be a potent sleep aid.
Gautama said "Everything changes. Everything remains."
But his nickname for his son translates to "Obstruction."
We are most authetic when (we think) no one is watching
when (we think) the mike is off.
The truth is the Lazy way, not any work to maintain.
We are always certain of what we hide that might be revealed. But it usually isn't too surprising.
Just a few bubbles. Most of us are fond of a few "obstructions."