The Clarity in Uncertainty – Dance between Fog and Focus
The tension between clarity and unclarity seems to be rooted in the human condition itself. Our minds are built to seek patterns, to make sense of the world, and to resolve ambiguity. When things are unclear, we often experience discomfort because it conflicts with our innate desire for resolution and understanding. Unclarity poses a challenge, and humans are generally wired to confront and solve challenges; it’s a basic survival instinct.
However, once we achieve clarity, the “puzzle” is solved, the “problem” is resolved, and the thing that engaged our curiosity and problem-solving abilities no longer does so in the same way. The mind then moves on to the next challenge. It’s a kind of restlessness that keeps us evolving, learning, and growing, but it can also be a source of dissatisfaction or even suffering.
The reason why unclarity is challenging could be because it disrupts our sense of control. Clarity gives us the illusion of control, of being able to predict and manipulate our environment effectively. However, life is full of complexities and dualities that resist simple explanations or solutions. That’s why even when we feel we’ve achieved some clarity, it often seems limited or provisional.
This issue also brushes up against existential and spiritual concerns that have fascinated philosophers and religious thinkers for centuries. The idea that life is fundamentally uncertain and that we must find a way to live with this uncertainty is a central theme in many worldviews. It raises questions about how to live a meaningful life within the constraints of our limited understanding and control. Our relationship with unclarity can also change over time and with experience. As we age, we might find that we become more comfortable with shades of gray, more accepting of the limitations of our knowledge and control. Some people find great peace in embracing the mysteries of life, in recognizing the limitations of human cognition and the vastness of what we don’t know.
But this is often a hard-won wisdom, coming after years, or even decades, of grappling with the discomfort and challenges that unclarity brings. Some of the greatest minds in history have discussed the virtue of embracing uncertainty. Scientists, for example, thrive on it; it’s the engine that drives scientific inquiry. For artists, ambiguity can be a rich source of inspiration, a space where new ideas and forms can emerge. In spiritual practices, the embracing of mystery is often considered a path to deeper understanding and enlightenment.
This doesn’t make the process of dealing with unclarity any less challenging, but it may offer a different perspective on why this is such a universal human experience. It might not be something to be solved or eradicated but a fundamental aspect of the human condition to be explored, understood, and even embraced.
In other words, both clarity and unclarity have their roles in our lives, offering different kinds of lessons and opportunities for growth. Clarity can offer us direction and a sense of purpose, but it can also make us complacent or narrow in our thinking. Unclarity, on the other hand, while often uncomfortable, pushes us to question, explore, and stretch our boundaries.
Think of it as a sort of dance. Sometimes, life leads with clarity, providing us with straightforward answers, well-defined goals, and unambiguous directions. At other times, it leads with unclarity, challenging us with questions, uncertainties, and complex dilemmas that don’t have easy answers. Both stances have their own unique beauty and can enrich our lives in different ways.
The key might be learning how to navigate between these two states, knowing when to seek clarity and when to embrace uncertainty, how to balance our need for concrete answers with a willingness to dwell in ambiguity. And most importantly, how to find a sense of peace and even joy in that ongoing dance between the known and the unknown. So while the discomfort and challenge of unclarity can be difficult to live with, they also serve as catalysts for growth, pushing us to evolve and adapt in ways we might not have otherwise. After all, if life were entirely predictable and clear-cut, would it hold the same richness and potential for growth? Perhaps not.
Human nature is inclined toward a preference for clarity because it gives us a sense of control. When things are clear, we know what to expect, how to behave, what choices to make, and that gives us comfort. Clarity aligns with our need for stability and security.
On the other hand, unclarity often provokes discomfort because it takes away our sense of control. When situations are unclear or when we’re facing ambiguity, it triggers our brain’s threat detection systems, making us feel unsettled or anxious.
However, there’s an ironic twist to this natural inclination for clarity: the thrill of the unknown. Humans are also explorers, innovators, and problem solvers. These traits are activated by unclarity. We are drawn to mysteries, puzzles, and challenges because they promise the reward of discovery and growth. So, while our first reaction to unclarity may be discomfort, that same discomfort can motivate us to explore, to understand, and to grow.
But why do we pay more attention to what is unclear even after achieving clarity? Because clarity often brings resolution, and with resolution comes the end of that particular cycle of exploration or growth. On the other hand, unclarity sustains a continual process of seeking and questioning. Even when we solve one puzzle, another often takes its place. This continuous seeking can be stressful, but it’s also how we grow and evolve as individuals.
This is the paradox: Clarity and unclarity are two sides of the same coin, each with its own set of challenges and rewards. Clarity provides comfort but can lead to complacency. Unclarity creates discomfort but also fuels growth. Both are necessary for a fulfilling, well-rounded life.
The challenge, then, isn’t to eliminate unclarity but to engage with it in a way that is constructive rather than paralyzing. This often involves a level of acceptance that some questions might not have straightforward answers, and some situations will involve navigating through grey areas. Yet, it is precisely these challenges that enable us to grow mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. So, living with unclarity is not about finding a final state of total clarity, but about developing the resilience and wisdom to navigate life’s inherent uncertainties in a meaningful way.
In the realm of philosophy, this dual need for both clarity and unclarity echoes the dialectic process—where contradictory ideas coexist, inform each other, and even enable progress. To engage constructively with unclarity, one can apply a similar approach—acknowledging both the comforting aspects of clarity and the growth-oriented elements of unclarity without seeking to completely eliminate either one.
The act of accepting unclarity as a natural part of life can also be seen as an exercise in humility. No matter how much we know, there will always be elements that are out of our control, questions that don’t have immediate answers, and complexities that don’t yield to simple explanations. Acknowledging these uncertainties can open us to deeper understanding, greater empathy, and even wisdom. It frees us from the paralyzing quest for perfect certainty and allows us to make meaningful decisions despite incomplete information.
In practice, this might mean being okay with not having all the answers before taking action, or recognizing that it’s alright to change our minds when faced with new information. It could involve embracing ‘not knowing’ as a state that propels inquiry rather than stifles it. It also encourages a dynamic state of learning, where the lines between teacher and student blur, and every experience becomes an opportunity to grow.
In many philosophical frameworks, absolute clarity or certainty is considered an illusion or an ideal that can never be fully attained. We might strive for clarity but should recognize that it will often be provisional and subject to change.
Perhaps we can think of clarity not as an endpoint, but as a spectrum. At one end is complete confusion or lack of understanding, and at the other is perfect clarity. Most of the time, we find ourselves somewhere in between. Clarity, in this sense, becomes not a destination but a process—a movement along that spectrum towards greater understanding.
When we say we “have clarity,” it might simply mean we’ve moved far enough along this spectrum to make a confident decision or to understand a situation to our own satisfaction. This doesn’t mean we’ve solved the puzzle entirely, just that we have enough pieces in place to see the image taking shape. But clarity is often elusive because life is inherently complex, unpredictable, and full of uncertainties. Our plans and perspectives are always subject to change due to new information, experiences, and insights. Thus, even when we achieve a state of clarity, it’s often temporary and subject to change.
The search for clarity often seems like an endless endeavor precisely because life is complex and ever-changing. When we seek clarity, what we’re often looking for is a framework or paradigm that allows us to make sense of our experiences and observations. But each framework has its limitations; no single lens can capture the full depth and complexity of reality.
The existentialist philosophers, for example, posited that life is inherently ambiguous. There is rarely a single, clear-cut answer to complex questions. The more we learn, the more we recognize the limits of our knowledge. This is what Socrates meant when he said, “I know that I know nothing.” His wisdom lay in recognizing his own ignorance.
Similarly, Eastern philosophies like Buddhism speak of “beginner’s mind,” the idea of approaching life with openness, eagerness, and a lack of preconceptions, much like a beginner or a child. This is not the same as saying one should be ignorant, but rather that one should be open to multiple perspectives and willing to revise one’s understanding as more information becomes available.
In modern psychology, this ongoing quest for clarity amidst uncertainty can sometimes be framed as “tolerance for ambiguity,” a psychological trait that defines one’s ability to function well in situations that are uncertain, unclear, or chaotic. People with high tolerance for ambiguity are generally more flexible and find it easier to adapt to new situations, while those with low tolerance may find ambiguity to be stressful and may seek to resolve it as quickly as possible, even if it means settling for a simplistic answer.
So why do we seek clarity? From an evolutionary standpoint, being able to quickly assess and understand our environment could have survival benefits. However, the modern world is much more complex than the environments in which our ancestors lived, and the “clarity” we seek may not always be achievable or may require us to accept some level of uncertainty or paradox.
The pursuit of clarity, then, is both a psychological and philosophical endeavor. It involves developing the cognitive and emotional skills needed to navigate uncertainty and the wisdom to recognize that our understanding of any given situation is likely to be partial and contingent on various factors.
If we can get comfortable with the idea that absolute clarity is an ideal rather than a constant state, we can free ourselves to seek understanding in a more nuanced and open-minded way. We learn to appreciate the journey of intellectual and emotional growth, even if it never leads to a single, unambiguous destination.
The Fluidity of Stillness: Understanding Stagnation Amidst Movement
“Movement in Stagnation” captures the tension between seemingly opposite states—feeling spiritually stuck or stagnant while simultaneously experiencing inner changes or shifts. This suggests that even within periods of seeming inertia, movement is happening, whether you recognize it or not.
The experience of feeling both movement and stagnation simultaneously—or alternately—can be influenced by various factors, including your emotional state, external circumstances, and perspective. On a day-to-day basis, there are changes, interactions, and new experiences, which might seem like movement. However, these might not register on the long-term scale, where overarching goals and life trajectories are considered.
ertain philosophies and spiritual perspectives propose that time is not linear but cyclical. Thus, the repetition or perceived stagnation may actually be a part of natural cycles. However, Emotions are incredibly transient; they can change from moment to moment. This emotional flux might be what you’re identifying as “movement” within the stagnation. Emotional highs feel even higher when coming out of a low and vice versa. This contrast might contribute to the sensation of significant movement even when your situation hasn’t drastically changed.
Humans are wired to identify patterns. When you start noticing recurring themes or experiences, your brain flags these as patterns, which can feel like you’re stuck in a loop. Once you recognize a pattern or feel stuck, you’re more likely to notice information that confirms this belief, thereby reinforcing the feeling of being stuck.
Some spiritual teachings suggest that life inherently consists of repetitive cycles—birth, growth, decay, death, and rebirth—and that recognizing this can free you from the illusion of stagnation. Certain philosophies like Buddhism focus on the present moment as the only “real” moment, suggesting that both the past (stagnation) and the future (movement) are constructs of the mind.
When you look at your life on a daily basis, you can see a lot of activities, interactions, and events that unfold. The sun rises and sets, you go to work, eat, sleep, talk to people, perhaps engage in some hobbies. This flurry of activity can give you the impression that things are constantly moving and changing. However, if you were to zoom out and look at a larger slice of your life, say a year or a decade, the feeling is often quite different. Major life circumstances—your job, where you live, your relationship status—may not change as frequently. Even if they do, the underlying patterns of behavior, the kinds of relationships you engage in, and your day-to-day experiences might not undergo a significant transformation. This is where the feeling of “stagnation” often comes in. Despite the constant activity and interactions, there may be an underlying sense that nothing much has really changed—or is going to change.
Emotions, by their very nature, are transient and fluid. Even within a single day, you might experience a range of emotions—joy, frustration, excitement, boredom, love, irritation—and these emotions have a way of coloring your perception. When you’re joyful, the world seems vibrant, full of possibilities; you feel like you’re “moving.” When you’re frustrated or bored, the world can seem dull, repetitive; hence the feeling of “stagnation.”
The mind has certain tendencies that influence this dual experience of movement and stillness. One of these is the brain’s knack for pattern recognition. We make sense of the world by recognizing patterns; it’s how we learn and navigate complex realities. However, this strength can turn into a trap when the patterns you recognize lead to a sense of helplessness or stagnation. For instance, if you’ve had several failed relationships, you may start to believe that all relationships are doomed to fail, leading to a feeling of being “stuck.”
Finally from a more spiritual or existential standpoint, the very idea of movement and stagnation can be questioned. Certain spiritual teachings suggest that the material world is an illusion, and that true “movement” is a journey inward, toward understanding one’s own nature and the nature of reality. In this context, both the feeling of “moving” and “being stuck” can be seen as distractions from the true journey, which is neither about moving nor staying but about understanding and being.
Understanding the fleeting nature of “Happiness”
Realising you’re happy and consequently puncturing that happiness—is a manifestation of the self-reflexive quality of human consciousness. It reflects our ability not only to experience emotions but also to have thoughts about those experiences, including the experience of happiness. At the most immediate level, we have sensory experiences and emotional reactions. These are our raw, unfiltered engagements with the world around us. But atop this immediate experience, we have a secondary layer of experience: our thoughts about our experiences. This secondary layer is where we interpret, judge, anticipate, and reflect.
The paradox here is that this second layer of experience can intrude upon and alter the first. By realizing we’re happy, we move the experience of happiness from the immediate realm into the realm of reflection and analysis. This can have a distancing effect, making the happiness less vivid and more abstract. The “self” that is experiencing happiness is no longer fully integrated with the experience; part of it has stepped aside to observe.
The awareness of happiness can also bring about a sense of sadness or melancholy. This is because our reflective consciousness is not only evaluative but also temporal; it exists in time. When we realize we’re happy, we also realize that the moment is fleeting, that it will pass. This injects a sense of loss or nostalgia into the current experience, dampening the happiness with a layer of sadness. There’s also the pressure that once identified, the feeling of happiness must be maintained, which turns it into an object of concern.
In some Eastern philosophies, for example, the ultimate state of happiness or enlightenment is one that transcends both happiness and sadness, existing in a state of pure “beingness” that is beyond dualities. Western philosophies often engage deeply with the notion of existential angst, the idea that human freedom and awareness are both a gift and a curse, capable of both elevating and diminishing our experiences. Humans are narrative creatures. We don’t just experience things; we also construct stories around our experiences, which become a part of the experience itself. Realizing you’re happy can sometimes feel like a narrative high point, a climax. But climaxes are, by their nature, transitional; they mark the point where a story begins to move toward its conclusion. This can create a sense of impending descent, which can tinge even the most joyous moments with a shade of melancholy. There’s a compelling argument to be made for the richness added to our lives by our ability to reflect on our experiences. This meta-experience, the experience of experiencing, adds depth and texture to our lives. It’s the thing that allows us to appreciate art, to fall in love, to engage in complex moral reasoning. But it comes at a cost: the cost of immediacy. The more we reflect on our experiences, the less we’re able to engage with them directly. It’s like being the actor and the audience at the same time. This dual nature of consciousness is both a blessing and a curse. While it allows us the richness of introspection and self-awareness, it also sets up a scenario where the observer can interfere with the experience.
When you realize you’re happy, you’re essentially stepping out of the experience to label it. The moment you do that, you bring in the concept of time. Emotions, when lived, are timeless. They’re states of being. But when you observe them, you also acknowledge their temporality—they become moments that have started and will eventually end. This implicit understanding of the fleeting nature of happiness casts a shadow on the experience, thereby altering its composition and introducing elements of sadness or anxiety.
The awareness of happiness can trigger broader questions about the nature of existence, purpose, and meaning. Happiness is often viewed as an ‘end,’ a goal in life. Once achieved, its realization can create a form of existential vacuum, a questioning of ‘what next?’ This moves you out of the emotional experience and into a cognitive one, involving existential questions that can often be more unsettling than comforting.
Your realization also exemplifies the duality inherent in life experiences. There’s a push and pull between opposing forces: happiness and sadness, awareness and ignorance, temporality and timelessness. Some philosophical traditions, particularly those from Eastern philosophies like Buddhism, suggest that the ultimate state of enlightenment is one that transcends this duality to experience a state of ‘oneness.’ In that state, the act of observing happiness and the experience of happiness itself become one unified experience, without a division that could puncture the emotion. When we experience happiness, it often fits into a story we have about what makes us happy and why. This narrative self can be in constant tension with the experiencing self. The act of realizing you’re happy is a narrative act—it fits this moment of joy into your broader life story. But life stories are complex and filled with ups and downs. Fitting a moment into a narrative can mean subjecting it to all the complexities and contradictions of that narrative, which can dilute the purity of the experience.
On the one hand, mindfulness and self-awareness teach us to observe our feelings, thoughts, and experiences. On the other hand, the very act of observing can sometimes alter or even negate the experience, particularly with transient states like happiness. In quantum physics, the observer effect refers to changes that the act of observation makes on the phenomenon being observed. In psychology, too, observing one’s thoughts and feelings can change them. This is the basis of therapies like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), where the act of observing and questioning one’s thoughts can lead to emotional regulation.
When you realize you’re happy and become acutely aware of that happiness, you might also become aware of the fleeting nature of emotions. This could potentially lead to a decrease in the intensity of your happiness, making it a self-limiting state. The joy is punctured by the awareness of its temporary nature or by the anxiety of losing it. It’s crucial to distinguish between mindfulness and hyper-awareness. Mindfulness means accepting each moment as it is, including your happiness, without clinging to it or fearing its loss. Hyper-awareness, on the other hand, involves scrutinizing the experience so closely that you can’t simply be in it. You’re essentially stepping out of the experience to examine it.
Some of the ways to deal with it:
1. The first step in navigating this paradox is to accept the transient nature of all emotional states. Once we make peace with the ebb and flow of life, the realization that our happiness is temporary becomes less threatening.
2. Aim for a detached form of observation. Observe your happiness without clinging to it, just as you would observe your breath during meditation.
3. Shifting the focus from “Being Happy” to “Being”. When your focus is simply on ‘being,’ without labeling the state you are in, you eliminate the self-imposed pressure to sustain any emotional state, be it happiness or otherwise.
4. Often the anxiety of losing happiness arises from either past experiences or future uncertainties. Dwelling in the present can alleviate that concern.
Understanding Confidence: Beyond the Binary of “more” or “less“
It’s a term thrown around often, in self-help books, motivational speeches, and even casual conversations. But what exactly is confidence? Is it an intangible force that some people possess while others lack, or is it an inherent aspect of every individual that remains unaffected by external circumstances? Let’s dive deep into this paradoxical phenomenon.
If one looks closely, the term has been constructed based on societal norms and standards. It is believed that certain behaviors, decisions, or characteristics project a sense of certainty, while others indicate a lack of the same. Over time, these beliefs have formed the structure we identify as confidence. However, considering the vast spectrum of human emotions and the varied circumstances everyone faces, is it valid to classify them under the binary of confidence and its lack?
For instance, a deer running from a predator is often acting out of fear. However, the very act of running, the determination to escape, indicates a level of confidence in its ability to survive. Similarly, when a person is fearful, that fear doesn’t necessarily negate their confidence. The act of acknowledging fear and responding to it can be viewed as an act performed with complete confidence in that particular emotion.
While it’s argued that confidence is unaffected by external situations, one can’t deny the impact of external validation on perceived self-worth. A student praised continuously may seem more confident than one who’s always criticized. But this brings forth another question: Is the confidence of the praised student genuine, or is it a facade built upon external validation? The underlying belief here is that true confidence remains unaffected by external factors. It is an internal compass, guiding one through life’s challenges. The student who seems less confident due to criticism might very well have an inherent belief in their abilities but chooses not to display it openly.
The intricate relationship between fear and confidence is captivating. While at first glance, they might seem opposing, a deeper introspection suggests they coexist harmoniously. As mentioned before, acknowledging fear can be an act of confidence in itself. Embracing one’s vulnerabilities, doubts, and fears can be seen as the highest form of confidence because it stems from self-awareness.
If we view confidence as neither a trait one can gain nor lose but as a constant presence, it reshapes our understanding. In this perspective, every act, regardless of its nature, is executed with full confidence. A person displaying apprehension is confidently apprehensive. A person in doubt is confidently doubtful. Modern society often categorizes confidence in degrees – more or less, high or low. This categorization restricts our understanding. When we say someone is “more confident,” we’re comparing their current state to a previous one or juxtaposing them against someone else. However, by acknowledging that every act is executed with complete alignment to a particular emotion or state of being, the need for comparison dissipates.
Confidence, in its true essence, is not about loud declarations or silent sufferings. It’s about recognizing and accepting the inherent completeness in every emotion, decision, and action. It’s about understanding that every response to a situation, be it with enthusiasm, fear, doubt, or joy, is done with utmost confidence in that response. If confidence is inherent, it would imply that any action performed in a state of fear, joy, or doubt is done with a level of assurance. In a crisis, for example, a hesitant decision to call for help is executed with as much confidence as a swift decision to solve the problem. This inherent nature of confidence, therefore, suggests that the concept is not binary but rather a spectrum, or perhaps beyond a spectrum—a state of consistent existence.
When we look at external circumstances affecting confidence, it becomes apparent that this so-called “influence” is transient. If confidence is genuinely inherent, then external factors may create an illusion of change but cannot alter its core. That said, constant external validation can create a clouded perception of self-worth, often mistaken for genuine self-confidence. The distinction between inherent confidence and externally-induced confidence is crucial for holistic understanding. If confidence is a constant presence, the degrees of “more” or “less” cease to have real meaning. It suggests that everyone, at any point in time, is fully committed to their actions or reactions, be it hesitancy or decisiveness. In such a framework, everyone is performing at their own level of 100% confidence tailored to the specific situation or emotion they are dealing with. Therefore, to say that one is ‘lacking’ in confidence is to misunderstand its inherent nature.
If every act is performed in complete alignment with the emotion or thought process governing it, it removes the need for comparison or valuation, which are tools the ego uses to identify itself. The notion of someone being “more confident” than someone else arises from a place of duality, from distinguishing the self from the ‘other.’ When one’s existence is in complete harmony with the intrinsic nature of confidence, these comparisons become irrelevant.
Whispers of the Quiet Quest!!
Silent seeker’s quest
In the realm of the silent seeker’s stride,
Where bridges burn, and shadows hide,
A journey deep, through time’s vast tide,
To realms within, where truths reside.
The witness stands, on shores of mind,
Observing life, to ties unbind.
Yet comes a time, the seeker finds,
To transcend watch, and life entwined.
For what’s an end, but a new dawn?
A realization, a reborn fawn.
Not a destination, but a stretch yawning wide,
A shift of soul, where truths reside.
Observer, witness, names do vary,
Yet their essence, one mustn’t miscarry.
A silent gaze, detached, unweary,
In the dance of life, a step so necessary.
The ego’s song, a siren’s call,
Binds the soul, in a webbed thrall.
But in awakened states, its grip does fall,
As vastness reigns, over the minuscule and small.
Time, a river, flowing swift and sure,
Past’s lessons, future’s lure.
Yet in the present, lies the cure,
To manifest dreams, pure and pure.
Intention sets the compass’ needle,
Visualization paints the dream’s easel.
Emotion fuels, action’s sequel,
And gratitude wraps, life’s upheaval.
In the dance of duality, the rhythm is profound,
Yet beyond the beats, a silence is found.
For in the heart of existence, where truths are unbound,
Lies the song of the soul, an eternal sound.
Love and Longing – A paradox ??
The experience of longing for love is universal and deeply rooted in our humanity. This longing, often described as an unquenchable thirst, is both a blessing and a burden, driving us to form connections, seek fulfillment, and explore the depths of our own emotions.
Delving into the realm of quantum physics, there’s an intriguing principle known as quantum entanglement. It suggests that two particles, once entwined, will remain connected irrespective of distance. A change in the state of one will instantly affect the state of the other, no matter how far apart they are.
Drawing a parallel to human emotions, particularly longing, one could argue that individuals form ’emotional entanglements.’ The sense of connection might not be physical but is as intense, enduring, and mystifying as quantum entanglements. This could be the reason why, even in separation, our emotions remain tethered to another person, place, or memory. Longing is a complex emotion that can arise from various sources. At its core, it’s a yearning for something that seems to be just out of reach. We might long for a loved one, for a sense of belonging, for an idealized version of the world, or for a deeper connection with ourselves.
Our longing for love can be seen as a biological imperative. Our ancestors who formed strong social bonds and felt a deep connection to their kin were more likely to survive and reproduce. As a result, the longing for love and connection is deeply ingrained in our genetic makeup. Our experiences shape our emotional responses. For instance, early attachment experiences with caregivers can influence our future relationships and how we perceive love. Similarly, our psychological makeup, shaped by both nature and nurture, affects how we experience longing.
The relationship between love and longing is paradoxical. On the one hand, love can make us feel whole, bringing joy and fulfillment. On the other hand, it can also create a sense of longing, especially when faced with separation or unfulfilled desires. This tension is often evident in poetry and art, where love and longing are intertwined in complex ways. When we are in love, we often feel a sense of completeness. The world seems brighter, and we may experience a deep sense of contentment. This feeling arises from the connection and emotional intimacy that love brings. In these moments, longing may fade into the background. Despite the fulfillment that love offers, it can also create a sense of longing. When separated from a loved one, the intensity of our love can manifest as a deep yearning for their presence. This longing can also arise from unmet emotional needs, unfulfilled desires, or the idealization of love.
Love and longing are not mutually exclusive; they often coexist. The very act of loving someone can make us more aware of their absence when they are not around. Similarly, longing can intensify our love, making us cherish our moments of connection even more. This dynamic interplay adds depth to our emotional experiences.
Longing is not a singular emotion; it encompasses a range of feelings, including hope, desire, melancholy, and even pain. Longing often involves a strong desire for something or someone. This desire can create a sense of anticipation, making us look forward to future possibilities. The act of longing can be both exciting and agonizing, as we await the fulfillment of our desires. Longing can also be rooted in the past. We may long for a time when we felt loved, accepted, or understood. This sense of nostalgia can be accompanied by melancholy, as we realize that the past cannot be recaptured. Sometimes, longing arises from idealization. We may create a mental image of the perfect partner, the ideal life, or a utopian world. These idealized visions can make us feel discontented with our current reality, fueling a sense of longing. Longing can be painful, especially when it feels unending or unrequited. The intensity of our yearning can create a sense of suffering, as we grapple with the gap between our desires and reality.
Wrestling with the feelings associated with longing can lead to deeper emotional intelligence. Through introspection, we can learn more about ourselves, our needs, and our desires. Understanding the root of our longing can help us address underlying issues or unmet needs in our lives. everyone has felt it at some point. Recognizing this shared experience can foster empathy towards others and deepen our human connections. By understanding our own feelings of longing, we become better equipped to empathize with others.
Life is characterized by dualities: happiness and sorrow, presence and absence, fulfillment and yearning. While these might seem contradictory, they often exist side by side and give depth to our experiences.
Presence in Absence: Even in the absence of what we long for, there’s a certain presence of that object or person in our thoughts and emotions. This phenomenon speaks to the power of our minds and hearts to transcend physical limitations.
Completeness in Incompleteness: The very feeling of longing suggests that there’s something we deem essential for our completeness. However, the journey of life is about realizing that, in many ways, we are already complete in our incompleteness. The gaps and spaces create room for growth, evolution, and understanding.
Stability in Flux: Our feelings, including longing, are in constant flux. They come and go, intensify and wane. But beneath these changing emotions, there’s a stable core of self, a foundational aspect of our being that remains unswayed.
Is harmony defined by us is really harmonious ?
The universe operates on a balance. Dualities like light and dark, joy and sorrow, and so on, are not in contention with each other but rather two sides of the same coin. They provide context and meaning. It’s akin to understanding that one cannot truly appreciate light without having known darkness. Our existence is enigmatic, where a myriad of elements interplay in a vast cosmic dance. Every action, no matter how minute, sends ripples across the fabric of the universe. Such is the interconnectedness and oneness that defines the cosmos. But amidst this vastness, we humans grapple with the age-old questions: Why are we here? Why do we feel disconnected when everything is intrinsically connected? And, why is our life, despite being a part of this vast universe, so often defined by duality?
Consider the universe as an immense symphony, where every entity is like a note, contributing to an eternal, harmonious melody. From the most massive stars to the tiniest organisms, everything is in sync, vibrating in tune with the universe. This sense of harmony is a constant, even if it’s not always immediately apparent. However, the human experience often feels at odds with this cosmic harmony. We frequently perceive life through the lens of duality: good vs. evil, happiness vs. sorrow, success vs. failure. Such bifurcations arise primarily from our mental frameworks, shaped by societal norms, personal experiences, and evolutionary predispositions.
In our evolutionary journey, the human brain developed cognitive systems to categorize, discriminate, and simplify the complex stimuli of the external world, making it digestible and navigable. This cognitive system is a survival tool, enabling us to swiftly identify threats from non-threats, edible food from inedible, and so on. Over time, as societies became more sophisticated, these dualistic mental models began to govern not just our interactions with the environment but also our self-perception, aspirations, and relationships. This dualistic approach further feeds into the illusion of separateness — a feeling that we are distinct from the rest of the universe. Despite being made of stardust and sharing common atomic ancestors with everything around us, we often feel isolated or alienated. Such feelings intensify when we face adversities, leading many to question the harmony and purpose of existence.
Our understanding of freedom is entwined with our perception of duality. True freedom is not just liberation from external constraints but also from internal ones, like prejudices, fears, and limiting beliefs. To break free from the life’s cycle, one needs to reconcile with dualities, recognizing them as constructs rather than inherent truths. As we delve deeper into the framework of existence, we find that duality isn’t inherently detrimental. Instead, it provides contrast, lending depth and dimension to our experiences. Just as the contrasting strokes of a painting give it life and depth, the dualities of our lives add vibrancy and richness to our existence. Without dark, there would be no understanding of light; without sorrow, the true essence of joy would remain unknown.
Much of our attachment to duality stems from societal and cultural conditioning. From childhood, we’re taught to label and categorize experiences: winning is good, losing is bad; happiness is desirable, sadness is not. Over time, these labels solidify into beliefs, shaping our perceptions and reactions. For instance, consider the universally accepted notion of success. Societal metrics of success often revolve around material wealth, social status, and professional achievements. However, if we were to strip away these conditioned beliefs and look at life through an unfiltered lens, we might find that true success lies in inner contentment, meaningful relationships, and personal growth.
Our fixation on the ephemeral aspects of life — fleeting emotions, transient experiences, and temporal possessions — further entrenches us in the duality trap. In the rush of life, we often overlook the eternal — the unchanging, omnipresent essence that underlies all existence. This essence, often referred to in spiritual contexts as the ‘Self’ or ‘Consciousness,’ remains unaffected by the dualities that play out on the surface.
By connecting with this eternal aspect of ourselves, we begin to view dualities with a sense of detachment. They appear as passing clouds against the vast sky of our existence, impactful in the moment but not defining our eternal essence. Aligning with the duality doesn’t mean becoming passive or indifferent. It means engaging with life wholeheartedly, experiencing every emotion, every high and low, but without letting them dictate our inner state. With heightened awareness, we can navigate the complexities of life with grace, recognizing the transient nature of our experiences.
This awareness doesn’t diminish our experiences but rather enriches them. When we embrace both the joys and sorrows of life with equanimity, we live more fully, more authentically. We begin to see challenges as opportunities for growth, failures as lessons, and successes as moments of gratitude.
Our perception of disharmony is influenced by our thoughts, emotions, and our attachments to outcomes. When we find ourselves in situations we didn’t desire or anticipate, our immediate response is resistance. This resistance, this non-acceptance, creates friction – a perceived disharmony.
The journey to non-duality is a continuous process of introspection, reflection, and growth. Various spiritual traditions offer paths to transcend duality: the Yogic tradition advocates for meditation and self-inquiry, Buddhism emphasizes mindfulness and compassion, while Taoism teaches the art of flowing with life, embracing both its yin and yang.
The common thread across these traditions is the idea of returning to one’s true nature — a state of pure consciousness, free from the constraints of duality.
Faith – reality in unseen ?
The concept of faith is one of the most profound yet elusive aspects of human life. Rooted in the intangible and often transcending the bounds of logical reasoning, faith is a powerful force that shapes our worldviews, influences our actions, and gives meaning to our existence. In its most fundamental form, faith is a complete trust or confidence in something or someone. However, the nature and implications of faith are much more nuanced and multifaceted.
Faith operates in various dimensions of our lives, not just in religious or spiritual contexts. We exhibit faith when we trust our loved ones, when we believe in the promise of a better future, when we have confidence in our abilities despite past failures, and even when we participate in social or economic systems. Faith, therefore, is deeply ingrained in our daily lives, influencing our decisions and perceptions, often without us consciously realizing it.
When it comes to faith in things unseen or events yet to happen, the dynamics become even more complex. This kind of faith typically involves a degree of uncertainty and mystery. It requires a leap beyond the confines of empirical evidence and tangible proof. But why do we, as rational beings, place faith in the unseen or the unknown?
Part of the answer lies in our inherent desire for meaning, purpose, and connection. As conscious beings, we yearn to understand the world around us, to make sense of our experiences, and to feel connected to something greater than ourselves. This quest for understanding and connection often leads us into the realm of the unseen, the unproven, the mysterious. It’s in this realm that faith becomes an essential tool.
Moreover, our experiences shape our faith. Experiences of love, compassion, resilience, and transformation can reinforce our faith in positive values, in humanity, or in a higher power. On the other hand, experiences of pain, loss, or injustice might challenge or even shatter our faith. Nevertheless, it’s often in the midst of adversity that faith evolves and deepens, as we grapple with questions of meaning, purpose, and hope.
The role of faith in our lives can be multifarious. For some, faith in a divine entity brings comfort and guidance. It instills hope during trials and tribulations, fosters a sense of community and belonging, and provides a moral framework for life. For others, faith in human potential and progress fuels the pursuit of knowledge, justice, and innovation.
Does faith have anything to do with what has happened and what’s going to happen? Indeed, faith is often interwoven with our perceptions of the past, present, and future. Past experiences can shape our faith, as we learn from our triumphs and failures, joys and sorrows. Our faith, in turn, influences how we navigate the present and envision the future. It can give us the courage to face challenges, the patience to endure hardships, and the inspiration to dream and create.
At the same time, faith is not about predicting the future with certainty. Rather, it’s about embracing uncertainty with hope and resilience. It’s about daring to dream, to strive, and to love, even when the outcomes are unknown. It’s about trusting in the potential for growth, transformation, and transcendence, regardless of our current circumstances or past experiences.
Is faith real? The reality of faith might not be tangible or measurable, but its impact on human life is undeniable. Across cultures and throughout history, faith has inspired art and literature, fueled social movements, shaped civilizations, and transformed individual lives. Its reality is manifested in the courage of those who dare to dream and create, in the resilience of those who endure suffering with hope, and in the love and compassion that transcend boundaries of race, religion, and ideology.
It’s worth noting, however, that faith is not about passive acceptance or blind allegiance. True faith involves questioning, seeking, and growing. It’s a dynamic, evolving journey rather than a fixed destination. It requires humility to acknowledge the unknown, courage to question and explore, and wisdom to discern truth from illusion. While the nature of faith is complex and elusive, its essence can be encapsulated in the timeless words of Martin Luther King Jr.: “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.”
To deepen our exploration of faith, let’s consider it from various perspectives: philosophical, psychological, sociological, and spiritual.
From a philosophical perspective, faith brings up interesting questions about knowledge and belief. Philosophers have long pondered how we can justify our beliefs or knowledge claims, particularly when they concern the unseen or the unproven. Can faith be considered a form of knowledge? Does it require justification or evidence? Different philosophical traditions offer diverse answers. For instance, the school of pragmatism posits that beliefs (and by extension, faith) can be justified if they yield positive outcomes or experiences.
From a psychological perspective, faith can be viewed as a cognitive and emotional mechanism that helps us navigate uncertainty and complexity. For instance, when we face a difficult decision or an unpredictable situation, faith can provide a sense of direction and confidence. Psychological research has shown that faith (both religious and secular) can contribute to mental well-being, resilience, and prosocial behavior. For instance, faith in one’s abilities (also known as self-efficacy) is a key factor in motivation and achievement.
From a sociological perspective, faith plays a crucial role in social cohesion and collective action. Shared beliefs and values can foster a sense of community and cooperation, enabling societies to function and evolve. For example, faith in democratic values underpins democratic institutions and practices. Moreover, faith can inspire social change. The civil rights movement in the United States, led by figures like Martin Luther King Jr., is a powerful example of faith-driven social activism.
From a spiritual perspective, faith is often associated with the relationship between the human soul and the divine or the transcendent. Faith can manifest as trust in divine providence, commitment to spiritual practices, or aspiration for spiritual growth. For instance, in the Bhagavad Gita, a sacred text of Hinduism, Lord Krishna advises Arjuna to perform his duty with faith and without attachment to the results – a principle known as Karma Yoga.
Let’s consider a few examples that illuminate the multifaceted nature of faith. Imagine a student who is preparing for a challenging exam. Her faith in her abilities motivates her to study diligently. She also has faith in the fairness of the educational system and the value of her chosen field of study. This faith sustains her through the stress and uncertainty of the exam period.
Consider also the example of a social activist. He has faith in the possibility of a more just and sustainable world. This faith fuels his advocacy and activism, despite the challenges and setbacks he might face. He also has faith in the power of collective action and the potential for social change.
Finally, contemplate the faith of a spiritual seeker. She has faith in a higher power and a deeper reality beyond the material world. This faith guides her spiritual practices and informs her life choices. Even in the face of doubt or despair, her faith provides a source of strength and solace.
Let’s consider some more aspects of faith: faith as an act of surrender, faith and reason, faith and doubt, and faith as a dynamic process.
- Faith as an Act of Surrender: In many spiritual traditions, faith is often depicted as a surrender, a relinquishing of the illusion of control. When we face life’s uncertainties, we often try to manipulate outcomes according to our desires. However, faith involves trusting the flow of life, even when it does not conform to our expectations. It’s like floating on the surface of a vast ocean, trusting in its currents to guide us, rather than struggling against them. This concept of surrender is not about inaction or defeat, but about embracing life’s unpredictability and recognizing our limited perspective.
- Faith and Reason: Faith and reason are often viewed as conflicting forces, particularly in the discourse between science and religion. However, they can also be seen as complementary aspects of our human quest for understanding. Reason involves the critical examination of evidence and the logical analysis of ideas. It is indispensable in our pursuit of empirical knowledge and practical wisdom. Faith, on the other hand, steps in where reason reaches its limits. It enables us to navigate the mysteries of existence, to live with uncertainty, and to aspire for ideals that transcend empirical evidence.
- Faith and Doubt: Doubt is often seen as the antithesis of faith, but it can also be an integral part of the journey of faith. Doubt prompts us to question our beliefs, to seek deeper understanding, and to remain open to new insights. A faith that has never been challenged by doubt may be unexamined or dogmatic. As philosopher Paul Tillich put it, “Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is one element of faith.”
- Faith as a Dynamic Process: Faith is not a static state but a dynamic process. It evolves as we encounter new experiences, insights, and challenges. Faith is not about clinging to fixed beliefs, but about cultivating a receptive and resilient spirit. It involves not only trusting in something beyond ourselves but also believing in our capacity to learn, grow, and adapt.
To illustrate these aspects, let’s revisit our previous examples. The student preparing for an exam may experience moments of self-doubt and anxiety. However, she can choose to see these challenges as opportunities for growth rather than threats to her faith in her abilities. By acknowledging her doubts, she can deepen her understanding of herself and her aspirations. By surrendering to the process, she can relieve her anxiety and focus on her effort rather than the outcome.
The social activist might face skepticism or opposition, testing his faith in his cause. But rather than deterring him, these challenges can strengthen his commitment and clarify his vision. His faith is not a blind belief but a conscious choice, informed by his understanding of social issues and his conviction in the power of change.
The spiritual seeker may grapple with profound questions about the divine and the nature of existence. Her faith does not prevent her from questioning or exploring different perspectives. Instead, it serves as a compass in her spiritual quest, guiding her through the vast and often confusing landscape of spiritual wisdom.
These examples underscore the richness and complexity of faith. Rather than a monolithic entity, faith is a kaleidoscope of perspectives, experiences, and choices. It is a multifaceted gem, whose beauty and depth are revealed in the light of our personal and collective journeys.
Abhishek Fanse 