inward bound

reading several books at the same time seemed like a bad idea at first, and i wondered if i should limit myself, but then thought - why? i don't feel that way about people, do i? i don't limit myself to meeting one person in a week and then another, etc. so why limit myself thus with books? it worked, and i am now blissfully ensconced in reading all of the following (in no particular order), depending on my mood, time of day, availability of time, etc.:

• The Gift - Hafiz
• Open Secret - Rumi
• Narcissus and Goldmund - Herman Hesse
• The Bhagavad Gita (translation) - Eknath Easwaran
• Spiritual Warfare - Jed McKenna
• The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying - Sogyal Rinpoche
• The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda (Vol. 7)
  

as i was reading spiritual warfare this evening, i came across a quote that i had just read in the tibetan book of living and dying. one of those coincidences that feel positively divine, if for a moment. here, i quote:

Perhaps the deepest reason why we are afraid of death is because we do not know who we are. We believe in a personal, unique, and separate identity - but if we dare to examine it, we find that this identity depends entirely on an endless collection of things to prop it up: our name, our "biography", our partners, family, home, job, friends, credit cards... It is on their fragile and transient support that we rely for our security. So when they are all taken away, will we have any idea of who we really are?

Without our familiar props, we are faced with just ourselves, a person we do not know, an unnerving stranger with whom we have been living all the time but we never really wanted to meet. Isn't that why we have tried to fill every moment of time with noise and activity, however boring or trivial, to ensure that we are never left in silence with this stranger on our own?

this quote made me think more when it was quoted than it did in its own book. (i wonder what that says about my reading. hm.) somewhere along the way, as i trudged through my life, i had lost myself in doing just that - avoiding time with the 'stranger' within, and at any cost. i filled up my time with people and things, making sure that not a minute was left vacant. i had vacuum-packed the person inside (ready to be parceled to siberia), ignorant and outwardly satisfied with the charade i had constructed for myself. ignorance is only pardonable as long as it unceasingly tends toward greater knowledge, though. when it begins to stagnate, the ground beneath must be shaken. something, anything, for movement, for growth.

thankfully, my prayers were answered (miraculously, even before they were voiced to a discerning ear, mine own included). the ground beneath my feet started to shake, the world became an illusion, and a deeper, firmer need surfaced: a need to get a good look at myself in the mirror, and not merely to catch fleeting glimpses in the eyes of others. nothing else would satisfy then.

as i gradually withdrew from 'people and things' and forced 'alone time' on myself, the joy i found came only to multiply. i remember wondering - if i can expect strangers to desire to befriend me, then why keep me from befriending myself? from giving myself the company i desire? after all, if i'm really interested in doing something i like to do, then i'm the best person to do it with, yes? (this works for unary operations anyway.) the ice was broken, and a new understanding emerged. we are good friends now, but it took some de-conditioning. well worth it, i say, because the rewards take new form everyday. and once the book has been taken down from the shelf, dusted, and opened, it's worse than the da vinci code. you just cannot put it down!

if there is one thing the rewarding experience has taught me since, it is this - there can be no room for fear in the discovery of oneself, for there is naught to fear. we hold on to our parachute for dear life when the lord has blessed us with wings. we need only let go, and these wings will carry us effortlessly through the heavens.