The past few weeks have featured much introspection on my part. Questions regarding the topics, which must by now have become clichés such as one’s self-identity and purpose in life, have consistently fascinated me, but these days it seems that the fascination has come perilously close to obsession. Indeed, an obsession with observation and introspection may indicate the discontent that one feels, yet steadfastly strives to contain under the surface.
Being in Sydney has led me to seek out new experiences much more than I had preciously done. I discovered that the freedom of driving along the roads of Ryde and Bondi necessarily comes with responsibility, much as I would like to have ignored the latter. Unless one is in the driver’s seat, physically guiding an automobile from one point to another, one never really understands why an inexperienced driver would seldom hold a conversation with passengers (or with someone else at the other end of a mobile phone call).
Much is discussed about the need for a balanced life. Yet it is nebulous by definition and notoriously diverse in practice. The contented soul does not waver between extremes, nor does it see emptiness in activity that it does not comprehend. Referring to the message of the Zen masters of old, going with the flow is preached often, but too seldom practised. In despair some withdraw from the hub of seemingly mindless activity, seeking a balm of solitude to soothe their increasingly intense feelings of abject loneliness. The simmering of such emotion is a burnt dish waiting to happen.
Days of vacation are too often wasted in slumber or ‘idle worship’, to coin a puritanical phrase. Yet these are the days of much-needed rest; whether driving is your particular pleasure is really beside the point. Some drive; others drink a couple of beers (or more); still others prepare a specialty meal, and lounge in front of the telly (or as it is more common from my understanding, the personal or laptop computer).
Vacations are often seen as a break from the drudgery of everyday life, though there are those who love life to the extent that vacations become boring! Yet it may not be strange to entertain the notion that vacation activities often mask the emptiness of the soul within. Life is what we make of it, we are told.
It defies logic to speak of retirement in the prime of one’s life – yet there is a subtle difference between living one’s passion and thinking of the end of one’s means. Consciousness is such an illusion – it blinds those who become enslaved to it. Thinking need not end at any point, although it is best to use it as a tool while in the midst of action. Sub-consciousness takes over when the conscious mind relents to action. Here is the source of all that is purple; the ground zero of the zone; the border between thinking and being. All previous successes originate from this place – do not bask in its glory, for it vanishes the moment you do. All that can be done is to continue to prod disobedient flesh towards divine spirituality.
