Honesty and Dishonesty: Beyond the surface
The concepts of honesty and dishonesty, fidelity and infidelity, often evoke strong reactions from people, shaped by moral, cultural, and societal conditioning. These binaries dominate much of human interaction, creating judgments about what is right and wrong, what is ethical and unethical. However, when we delve deeper into these ideas, we begin to see that these distinctions are part of a broader illusion of duality—a construct that humanity has built over millennia to navigate the complexities of life.
The very act of labeling actions as “honest” or “dishonest,” “faithful” or “unfaithful” stems from a worldview that is bound by dualistic thinking. In such a worldview, life is divided into opposites—good and bad, right and wrong, true and false. Yet, as we explore the nature of consciousness and presence, it becomes clear that these dichotomies are not fixed, but rather fluid, shaped by the limited perceptions of the human mind.
At the heart of this inquiry lies the question: what happens when one operates with complete presence, in a state of being where the mind is free from the constructs of past and future, of moral judgments, and of conditioned responses? In such a state, does the very notion of honesty and dishonesty, fidelity and infidelity, dissolve? Can we transcend the dualities that dominate our understanding of reality? And if so, what does that reveal about the nature of the “real world” we think we live in?
In this exploration, we will dive deep into these questions, dissecting the nature of honesty, dishonesty, fidelity, and infidelity, and ultimately aiming to dissolve the myths and illusions that surround them.
From an early age, we are taught that honesty is a virtue, a moral standard by which we should live. To be honest is to tell the truth, to be transparent, and to act in alignment with what is considered ethical. Dishonesty, on the other hand, is seen as a vice—deceiving, hiding the truth, or acting in ways that betray trust. Society has built intricate structures around these concepts, embedding them in legal systems, educational frameworks, and interpersonal relationships.
However, what we often fail to recognize is that both honesty and dishonesty are constructed within the realm of thought. They are ideas that arise from the human mind, shaped by cultural and historical contexts. What may be considered honest in one culture could be viewed as dishonest in another. For instance, in some cultures, withholding certain information is seen as a way to protect others, while in other societies, it may be seen as deceit. Thus, honesty and dishonesty are not objective truths; they are relative concepts that depend on context, perception, and belief systems. This recognition opens the door to questioning the very foundations of these moral judgments.
Honesty and dishonesty, as we commonly understand them, are rooted in dualistic thinking—the division of the world into opposites. Duality, in this sense, is a mental construct that allows us to navigate the complexities of life. It simplifies the world into categories of right and wrong, true and false, and gives us a sense of control over the moral and ethical landscape we inhabit.
But this division is inherently limiting. It creates conflict, both internally and externally, because it forces us to align with one side of the dichotomy and reject the other. When we view honesty and dishonesty as fixed opposites, we become trapped in a cycle of judgment, always measuring ourselves and others against these standards.
In relationships, fidelity is often equated with loyalty, faithfulness, and commitment. To be faithful is to remain true to one’s partner, to honor the bond of trust that has been established. Infidelity, by contrast, is seen as a betrayal—a breaking of that trust, a violation of the commitment made. These concepts are deeply ingrained in societal norms and expectations, particularly in romantic and marital relationships.
However, like honesty and dishonesty, fidelity and infidelity are also socially constructed. The very notion of what it means to be faithful or unfaithful varies across cultures and historical periods. In some societies, monogamy is seen as the ultimate expression of fidelity, while in others, polygamy or open relationships are accepted norms. The rules that govern fidelity are not universal; they are shaped by cultural, religious, and personal beliefs.
At the heart of fidelity and infidelity lies the idea of ownership—ownership of another person’s body, mind, and emotions. When we commit to a relationship, particularly in the context of marriage or long-term partnership, there is often an implicit expectation that we “own” each other in some way. This ownership manifests in the form of expectations about exclusivity, loyalty, and the boundaries of the relationship.
But this notion of ownership is illusory. No one can truly own another person, and attempting to do so creates a sense of possessiveness that is rooted in fear and insecurity. Fidelity, when seen through the lens of ownership, becomes a way of controlling the other person, of ensuring that they remain within the boundaries we have set for them.
True love is not possessive or conditional. When we love someone, we do not seek to control them or to bind them to our expectations. Instead, we allow them the freedom to be who they are, without judgment or restriction. This kind of love transcends the dualities of fidelity and infidelity because it is not based on ownership or attachment.
Infidelity, when it occurs, is often seen as the ultimate betrayal. It brings up feelings of hurt, anger, and rejection. But from a deeper perspective, infidelity can be understood as a mirror—an opportunity to examine the underlying dynamics of the relationship and the expectations that have been placed on it.
When someone is unfaithful, it is not necessarily a reflection of their character or moral standing. Rather, it can be a reflection of the unmet needs and desires that exist within the relationship. These unmet needs may be emotional, physical, or psychological, and they often stem from a lack of true connection or understanding between partners. Infidelity, in this sense, is not the cause of the problem but a symptom of deeper issues that have been ignored or suppressed. It forces us to confront the illusions we have built around relationships—the illusion of ownership, the illusion of permanence, and the illusion of control.
To operate with 100% presence in the moment is to be fully aware, fully engaged, and fully alive in the here and now. It means to live without the interference of past conditioning or future projections, to see reality as it is, without the filters of judgment, expectation, or attachment. Presence is the state of pure awareness, where the mind is not divided into opposites, and the self is not fragmented by thought. When we are truly present, the concepts of honesty and dishonesty, fidelity and infidelity, dissolve. In the state of presence, there is no division between right and wrong, true and false, because these are constructs of the mind. Presence transcends duality and brings us into direct contact with reality as it is—without the distortions of thought or emotion.
In the state of presence, honesty and dishonesty lose their meaning. Honesty is often defined as telling the truth, but what is truth? Truth, in its most profound sense, is not a fixed concept; it is fluid, dynamic, and constantly changing. When we are present, we do not cling to fixed ideas of truth or falsehood; we simply respond to the reality of the moment. Dishonesty, in this sense, is not about lying or deceiving others. It is about being out of alignment with the present moment—about acting from a place of conditioning, fear, or attachment, rather than from a place of awareness. When we are fully present, there is no need for dishonesty because we are in harmony with the flow of life. We do not need to manipulate or control the situation; we simply respond with clarity and integrity.
The concept of fidelity, too, dissolves when one operates in the present moment with full awareness. Fidelity, in its conventional sense, is often tied to promises, contracts, and the expectation of a continuous future. In relationships, it becomes a pledge to behave in certain ways over time, to stay within defined boundaries, and to remain “true” to another person. But these pledges are built upon mental constructs and future projections—on an imagined continuity that is bound by time and expectation.
When one is fully present, these future projections lose their weight, and fidelity is no longer about promises made for tomorrow but about the authenticity of being in relationship here and now. In presence, fidelity is not something forced or negotiated, but an expression of truth in the moment. One cannot be unfaithful in presence because one is not operating from a divided mind that clings to past commitments or fears future betrayals. Instead, there is simply an unfolding of truth as it is, unconditioned by the past and unconcerned with future outcomes.
Infidelity, often seen as the antithesis of fidelity, also loses its traditional meaning when approached from a place of presence. Infidelity typically arises from dissatisfaction, a feeling that something is lacking in the current relationship or situation. This dissatisfaction propels one to seek fulfillment elsewhere, outside the bounds of the established relationship. But what is at the root of this dissatisfaction? Often, it is the mind’s attachment to desires, projections, and unexamined needs that fuel the urge to look beyond the present relationship. In presence, there is no room for such projections. The mind, when it is fully attuned to the present, does not dwell on what is lacking or seek fulfillment outside of what is unfolding in the here and now. When one is present with a partner or in any relationship, the relationship is no longer bound by the rigid labels of fidelity and infidelity. There is simply a connection, a flow of being, that is not controlled by societal norms or personal insecurities. In this way, presence dissolves the very constructs that give rise to infidelity, not by imposing rules or boundaries, but by making them irrelevant.
Depths of Hurt: An Intriguing Emotion
At its core, hurt is an emotional response to a perceived loss or violation. This loss can be tangible, such as the loss of a loved one, or intangible, like the loss of respect or love. The perception of this loss is crucial; it’s not the objective situation that determines hurt, but how one interprets and internalizes it. The origins of hurt can be traced back to our earliest human experiences. As infants, we are utterly dependent on others for our survival, leading to a deep-rooted need for attachment and acceptance. This need, while essential for survival, also becomes the breeding ground for hurt. When our expectations of support, love, or acknowledgment are unmet, we experience hurt.
Hurt often manifests differently in personal and professional contexts, yet the underlying mechanics are surprisingly similar. In personal relationships, hurt is often more directly linked to emotional bonds and expectations of love, loyalty, and understanding. In professional settings, while the emotional stakes may seem lower, the hurt can still be profound. It often stems from unmet expectations regarding respect, recognition, or the outcome of our efforts. The statement “don’t take it personally” in professional environments is an acknowledgment of this complexity. It attempts to draw a boundary between the personal self and the professional role. Yet, this separation is often not as clear-cut as it seems. Our professional lives are an extension of our personal selves; the values, aspirations, and efforts we put into our work are deeply personal. Thus, when we face criticism, rejection, or failure at work, it can still impact our personal self-esteem and sense of worth.
The hurt one experiences is often a reflection of internal expectations and self-perception. When others do not meet our expectations, or when we fail to meet our own, we experience a sense of loss. This loss is not just about the external situation but also about our internal narrative. We construct stories about who we are and how the world should respond to us. When reality diverges from these stories, we feel hurt. Understanding hurt requires dissecting the dichotomy between external causes and internal reactions. Is hurt caused by others, or is it self-inflicted? The answer is nuanced. Others can act as triggers, but the actual experience of hurt is an internal process. It is our interpretation of events, filtered through our personal beliefs and past experiences, that generates hurt. human experience. We are beings of desire and expectation, living in a world that is constantly changing and often unpredictable. This disconnect between our desires and reality is a fertile ground for hurt. However, this inevitability doesn’t imply helplessness. It requires a shift from external validation to internal self-acceptance, and from rigid expectations to flexible aspirations. This journey towards resilience is not about becoming indifferent or uncaring, but about cultivating a grounded sense of self that can navigate the ups and downs of life with equanimity.
Developmental psychology, for instance, sheds light on how early experiences shape our vulnerability to hurt. Childhood, where the foundation of our self-esteem and worldviews are formed, significantly influences how we perceive and react to potential hurts in later life. Attachment suggests that our early bonding experiences with caregivers form templates for future relationships. Secure attachments lead to resilience, while insecure attachments can heighten our sensitivity to rejection and loss, predisposing us to deeper hurt.
Hurt also stems from conflicts of human existence – our search for meaning in an indifferent universe, the realization of our freedoms and limitations, and the ultimate confrontation with our mortality. Our self-perception plays a critical role in this process. If we perceive ourselves as capable and deserving, failing to meet expectations can lead to self-criticism and hurt. Conversely, if we see ourselves as unworthy, we may internalize external negative outcomes as confirmations of this belief, perpetuating cycles of hurt and low self-esteem.
Let us take a simple example where you feel hurt due to a longing for more time and attention from a loved one, even though you recognize they are doing their best. At the heart of your experience lies a paradox: you have an expectation (desiring more time and attention) and simultaneously an understanding (knowing your loved one is doing their best). This dichotomy is not just a matter of conflicting thoughts, but a reflection of the complex nature of human needs and empathy. On one hand, your need for time and attention is genuine – a fundamental aspect of human relationships where such connections and affirmations are essential for emotional bonding and fulfillment. On the other hand, your empathetic understanding of your loved one’s circumstances shows a depth of maturity and compassion. Feeling hurt in this context may arise from an unmet need, which is central to your emotional wellbeing. It’s important to recognize that such needs are not just whimsical desires; they are integral to our sense of connection and belonging. When these needs are not fully met, even in the presence of understanding and rationalization, it creates an emotional void, often experienced as hurt. The consequences of this paradox can be profound. When the fear of burdening outweighs the need for communication, individuals might choose to suppress or hide their feelings. This suppression, while it might seem to maintain harmony in the short term, can lead to several negative outcomes like emotional distance, resentment or misunderstanding. However, this need for emotional expression often collides with an equally powerful force – the fear of overburdening others. This fear stems from a place of empathy and concern, where we become acutely aware of the other person’s potential struggles and challenges. It also arises from our own vulnerabilities; the fear of being seen as needy, weak, or burdensome. Moreover, there’s an underlying concern about the dynamics of the relationship itself – the worry that being too open about our troubles or desires might alter the equilibrium of the relationship, potentially leading to conflict, distance, or discomfort.
At the heart of this paradox is our self-concept, the multifaceted perception we hold of ourselves. This self-concept is not static; it is shaped by our experiences, beliefs, and the feedback we receive from our environment. When we consider communicating our innermost thoughts and feelings, we are also negotiating with our self-concept. Are we someone who burdens others? Are we worthy of being heard and understood? These questions reflect deeper insecurities and beliefs about our worthiness and role in our relationships. The fear of being a burden often stems from a vulnerable place in our self-concept, where we doubt our value in the eyes of others. The complexity of this paradox also lies in the dynamic nature of human relationships. Each relationship we form is a unique intersection of personalities, histories, and expectations. In some relationships, there may be an established pattern of one person being the caregiver and the other the receiver. Attempting to reverse or alter these roles by expressing one’s own vulnerabilities can feel disruptive and fraught with uncertainty. There’s also the aspect of reciprocity – the balance of give and take. In healthy relationships, this balance is fluid and flexible, but the fear of disturbing this balance can make the act of communication seem daunting.
Psychologically, this paradox is intersecting with our deepest fears and vulnerabilities. It often triggers core issues related to self-worth, rejection, and abandonment. When we contemplate sharing our burdens, we are not just sharing a specific problem or feeling; we are also, on a deeper level, testing our acceptability and worthiness in the eyes of others. The fear that our vulnerabilities might make us less worthy of love or respect can be a powerful deterrent to open communication…
Into the Heart of Now: “NOW” Unveiled
We are what we are doing right now” taps into the philosophical and psychological realms of existence, perception, and human behaviour. Going further, we begin to see a confluence of various factors, which draw us away from the present moment, and push us into the embrace of either the past or the future. At the very heart of human existence is our incessant need to find meaning. We seek purpose, direction, and a sense of understanding about our lives. This pursuit often becomes a bridge connecting the past, present, and future. Our past experiences, both triumphant and traumatic, linger in our minds, continuously shaping our present perceptions. They become stories we tell ourselves, lessons we’ve learned, and at times, scars that haven’t fully healed. The future, on the other hand, represents our hopes, fears, dreams, and anxieties. It’s a canvas upon which we project our desires and apprehensions.
The expectation of outcomes is an inherent human trait. It is rooted in our evolutionary drive for predictability and control. For our ancestors, predicting potential dangers and outcomes was a matter of survival. Over millennia, this instinct has got inculcated with our complex cognitive structures, resulting in our modern-day anxieties about the future and ruminations on the past. However, the irony lies in the fact that the more we seek to control outcomes, the more we find ourselves entangled in a web of expectations. These expectations often lead to inner conflicts. When the present doesn’t align with our anticipated future, dissatisfaction ensues. And when the weight of past regrets is heavy, it dims the light of the present. Furthermore, the very act of striving to stay in the ‘now’ can itself become a source of distraction. If one is perpetually conscious about remaining anchored in the present, then this very consciousness becomes a barrier. The effort to stay present can sometimes be as distracting as the past memories or future anxieties that pull us away.
In today’s world, there’s also the influence of societal structures and norms. We live in societies that prize outcomes—success is often defined not by the journey, but by the destination. From a young age, we’re conditioned to focus on results, whether it’s grades in school or milestones in personal and professional lives. This societal molding further deepens our attachment to outcomes and amplifies our detachment from the present.
It is also crucial to understand the role of human consciousness in shaping our experience of time. Our consciousness is not just a passive observer; it actively constructs our sense of reality. Every moment we live is filtered through a myriad of cognitive processes, memories, and emotions. This complexity means that we often don’t experience the world “as it is” but rather “as we are.”
Neurologically speaking, our brain’s default mode network, an intricate web of interconnected brain regions, becomes most active when our attention is not occupied by tasks. This network is linked with thinking about others, thinking about oneself, remembering the past, and planning for the future. Thus, even when we aim to be in the present, our brains often naturally drift towards contemplations of the past and future. The challenges in remaining present can also be attributed to our cognitive structures, which include biases, such as the “negativity bias” – our innate human tendency to give more weight to negative experiences than positive ones. This bias can cause past traumas or failures to overshadow current joys, anchoring us in bygone moments of pain or disappointment. On the other hand, the future holds the allure of the unknown. This uncertainty can be both enticing and anxiety-inducing. Our modern societies, with their rapid changes and technological advancements, amplify this by creating an environment where change is the only constant. The evolving landscapes of our personal and professional lives mean that the future is more unpredictable than ever, making it a potent magnet for our attention and energy. Yet, amidst these complexities, lies a simple truth: the only tangible reality is the present. While memories shape and color our past and aspirations carve out our perceived futures, the ‘now’ is the only temporal space where action occurs, where life is truly lived.
Let’s explore this further!
What if “Now” encapsulates everything – past, present, and future ? This perspective challenges traditional temporal distinctions or divisions we create in and between Past, Present and Future. This viewpoint reframes our understanding of time and our place within its continuum. When we speak of living in the now, it’s often portrayed as a juxtaposition against being lost in memories of the past or anxieties about the future. However, what if everything is indeed a part of the “now” ?
Imagine time as a vast river. In this river, every drop of water represents a moment. While some drops are behind us (the past) and others ahead (the future), they all collectively belong to the river, which is the “now”. In this perspective, the entirety of existence – our memories, current experiences, and anticipations – are interconnected and concurrently present in an expansive “now”. From this viewpoint, distractions aren’t diversions from the present moment; they are simply different facets of the ever-expanding “now”. The reminiscences of a childhood memory or the contemplation about a future event are as much a part of our current experience as the sensation of the chair we’re sitting on. Every thought, emotion, and sensation, regardless of the temporal context it references, emerges and is experienced in the present moment.
The division we often make between the past, present, and future might be a result of our cognitive architecture. The human mind, in its quest for order and understanding, categorizes experiences. This compartmentalization aids in processing complex information. For instance, labeling an experience as a “memory” helps us contextualize it, discern lessons from it, or even prevent future mistakes. Similarly, projecting into the future can be a survival mechanism, allowing us to anticipate potential threats or opportunities.
However, by understanding that everything occurs in the “now”, we can achieve a form of holistic consciousness. This realization offers liberation. It frees us from the confines of linear temporality and allows a more integrated experience of existence. Such a perspective is echoed in various spiritual and philosophical traditions. For instance, in Eastern philosophies, there’s an emphasis on the interconnectedness of all things, where dichotomies are more apparent than real. Yet, while this concept is enlightening, it’s also challenging. Our societal structures, languages, and even our neurobiology are geared towards a linear understanding of time. Overcoming this deeply ingrained perspective requires consistent introspection and possibly even a paradigm shift in our consciousness.
Let’s delve deeper into the expansive Present:
Linear time, where events occur in a sequence from past to present to future, might be more of a cognitive construct than an intrinsic property of the universe. Physics, especially in the realm of relativity and quantum mechanics, has already shown us that time doesn’t always behave in the ways our everyday experiences might suggest. The famous physicist John Wheeler once proposed the idea of a “participatory universe,” suggesting that observers play a role in shaping their own realities, which includes the experience of time. Every thought, emotion, or memory we experience happens in the present moment of consciousness. Even when we recall a past event or anticipate a future one, that activity occurs in the current moment of awareness. This raises the idea that consciousness itself might be beyond time. It’s a continuous stream where “past” and “future” are merely parts of the grander “now.”
If we fully embrace the idea that everything is part of the “now,” it alters how we relate to our experiences. Regret, nostalgia, anxiety, and hope, which are emotions anchored in our traditional understanding of time, undergo a transformation. For example, instead of feeling regretful for a past decision, understanding its occurrence in the vastness of “now” might lead to acceptance and integration of that experience. Memory plays a crucial role in our understanding of time. Our memories, though referencing past events, are dynamic and malleable. They’re reconstructed every time we recall them. In essence, every time we remember something, we’re experiencing it anew in the present moment. This blurs the boundaries between past events and current experiences, reinforcing the idea of an all-encompassing “now.” While the concept is philosophically and spiritually enriching, it poses challenges in our day-to-day lives dominated by schedules, deadlines, and plans. How does one reconcile the linear demands of modern life with a non-linear understanding of time? This balance requires us to function efficiently in the world while internally maintaining an awareness of the deeper, interconnected reality.
Let’s delve further into More finer details: what if we kill “Now”?
When we speak of “killing” the now, we’re essentially talking about transcending our typical awareness of time and moving into a state of pure being, a consciousness unfettered by the confines of temporal experience. The idea that time itself might be an illusion is not new. From the ancient Eastern philosophies to cutting-edge quantum mechanics, there are suggestions that what we experience as the flow of time might be a cognitive and perceptual construct. Our brains organize experiences in a linear fashion, from cause to effect, creating the sense of a flowing river of moments, from the past, through the present, and into the future. But if we could step outside this stream, what would consciousness look like? If we “kill” the now, we’re essentially trying to access a state of pure awareness—a consciousness devoid of content, without thoughts, perceptions, or sensations. Many meditative practices aim to reach this state, often described as “thoughtless awareness” or “contentless consciousness.” In this state, the meditator isn’t focused on any particular thing (like the breath, a mantra, or an image), but instead simply exists. It’s a state of being rather than doing.
Attempting to attain a state of pure awareness can be paradoxical. The very effort to reach this state can prevent one from achieving it, as effort and intention are temporal and future-oriented in nature. It’s like trying to smooth turbulent water with one’s hand—the act of trying only creates more turbulence. It requires a letting go rather than a striving, a surrender rather than a pursuit. To “kill” the now is to step beyond dualities—the past and future, cause and effect, self and other. This is a realm often spoken of in mysticism and spirituality, where one transcends the perceived divisions of existence. It’s a state of unity, of oneness, where the individual self melts away into the all-encompassing whole.
While these states of consciousness can be transformative, they can be challenging to maintain in our everyday, pragmatic world. Our society operates on schedules, plans, and routines. However, even fleeting experiences of this transcendent state can profoundly affect our daily lives. It can offer insights, change perspectives, and create a deep-seated sense of peace. From the perspective of many ancient traditions, the universe is in a constant dance of creation and destruction. The “now” that we experience is just one beat of this cosmic dance. To “kill” the now is not to negate or nullify it, but to merge with the dance itself, to become one with the rhythm of existence.
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.
Possessive possessions
As human beings, our relationship with possessions is multi-faceted and complex, steeped in a variety of psychological, sociological, and cultural influences. Why do we cherish and cling to material objects? How do these objects gain such profound significance in our lives that their loss can trigger profound distress?
The roots of possessiveness can be traced back to our earliest stages of development. Attachment theory, proposed by psychologist John Bowlby, suggests that as infants, we form attachments to our caregivers, perceiving them as a source of security. Objects, such as a favourite blanket or toy, can also become “attachment objects,” imbued with emotional significance and seen as sources of comfort and safety.
As we grow older, this tendency to form attachments does not diminish but simply evolves. We begin to assign emotional significance to a wider range of objects: a cherished book, a childhood home, a prized car, an heirloom passed down through generations. These objects are no longer just inanimate items; they become extensions of our identity, symbolic representations of our personal history, achievements, relationships, and aspirations.
These possessions reflect who we are, who we have been, and who we aspire to be. They’re a reflection of our interests, experiences, values, and dreams. A stamp collection is not just a bunch of stamps; it’s a testament to a person’s love for history and travel. A guitar is not just an instrument; it’s an emblem of someone’s passion for music and creativity.
However, our deep emotional attachment to our possessions has a flip side: the fear of losing them. The possibility of someone taking away our prized possessions triggers a fear of losing a part of ourselves, of our identities being eroded. This fear is the seed of possessiveness. We resist anyone interfering with our possessions, seeing such interference as an intrusion into our personal domain, a threat to our sense of self.
Our possessions also offer us a sense of control in a world often marked by uncertainty and unpredictability. In a life full of variables beyond our control, our possessions are something we can manage, organize, and control. This perceived control can offer us comfort, helping us navigate the unpredictability of life.
This dynamic of possession and control extends to our relationships as well. We might view our partners, friends, or family members as ‘ours,’ a part of our identity. In healthy relationships, this feeling manifests as a deep sense of connection and commitment. However, when driven by insecurity or fear of loss, it can devolve into possessiveness, stifling the other person’s freedom and autonomy.
Ironically, the attachment to possessions can create both a sense of fullness and emptiness. Fullness, because these objects can offer comfort, joy, and a sense of identity. Emptiness, because possessions, being impermanent, can be lost, damaged, or taken away. We might also feel empty when we realize that possessions, while they can offer temporary happiness, cannot provide the deep, lasting fulfillment we ultimately seek.
In this journey of understanding possessions, it’s critical to consider another aspect, the societal and cultural influences that shape our attitudes towards ownership and possession. Our societies, through advertising, media, and peer pressure, often promote materialism and the idea that acquiring possessions is a path to happiness and success. We’re constantly bombarded with messages that equate possessions with personal worth and social status. This reinforces our attachment to material objects, making them seem even more essential to our identities and well-being.
Take, for example, the car someone drives. It’s more than just a vehicle for transportation; it’s often seen as a status symbol, an outward sign of wealth and success. We assign value to the person based on the value of their car. This societal norm can significantly reinforce our desire to possess and protect our belongings, linking them directly to our self-worth and societal standing.
However, this attachment can lead us into a cycle of endless striving, where we’re constantly seeking the next thing to acquire, hoping it will bring us the satisfaction we crave. But as we’ve often seen, this satisfaction is usually temporary. The excitement of a new purchase eventually fades, and we’re left seeking the next thing, caught in an endless cycle of desire and dissatisfaction.
This cycle of possession and dissatisfaction is also reflected in our relationships. In an attempt to find security and happiness, we may seek to ‘possess’ people, to make them ‘ours.’ This can manifest in various ways, from the relatively benign (e.g., wanting to spend lots of time with a loved one) to the more harmful (e.g., trying to control a partner’s behavior or friendships).
When we treat people as possessions, we run into two main problems. First, people are autonomous beings with their own desires and needs, not objects to be owned or controlled. Trying to ‘possess’ a person invariably leads to conflict and harm. Second, like with material possessions, the security and happiness we seek in ‘possessing’ others are elusive. People change, relationships end, and the sense of security we hoped to find proves fleeting.
The idea of possession also often extends to the intangible elements of our lives, such as ideas, beliefs, and ideologies. These can also become ‘possessions’ we fiercely cling to and defend. For instance, political, religious, or philosophical beliefs often become integral parts of our identity. Just as with material possessions, we can react negatively if these beliefs are challenged, seeing such challenges as attacks on ourselves.
One reason we attach so deeply to these kinds of possessions is that they help to structure our understanding of the world. They provide a framework that makes sense of our experiences, giving us a sense of control and predictability. Therefore, when these beliefs are threatened, it can feel as though our whole understanding of the world is under threat, triggering a defensive reaction.
However, just as with physical possessions, this attachment can lead to problems. When we’re so deeply invested in a particular belief or ideology, it can close our minds to new ideas and perspectives. We can become rigid and inflexible, unable to adapt to new information or changing circumstances.
This rigidity can also lead to conflict with others who hold different beliefs. When our identities are so tied up with our beliefs, it can be challenging to engage in open, respectful dialogue with those who see the world differently. Instead, we may feel threatened by these differing viewpoints and respond with hostility.
Yet, one might ask, how can we not hold onto beliefs? Aren’t they necessary for making sense of the world? While it’s true that beliefs play a crucial role in our understanding of the world, the problem arises when we cling to them rigidly, refusing to consider alternative viewpoints or update our beliefs in the light of new information.
Just as we can enjoy material possessions without being attached to them, we can hold beliefs without being enslaved by them. This requires a certain level of open-mindedness, a willingness to question our beliefs and consider new ideas. It also requires a level of humility, an acknowledgment that our understanding of the world is always limited and imperfect.
By developing this kind of flexible, open-minded approach to our beliefs, we can avoid much of the conflict and suffering that comes with rigid attachment. We can engage more productively with those who hold different views, seeing these interactions not as threats, but as opportunities for learning and growth.
The concept of possessions, whether tangible or intangible, thus challenges us to reassess our relationship with the world around us. While possessions can provide a sense of security and identity, our attachment to them can also lead to suffering and conflict.
Why a human being is always seeking?
In our lives, we often find ourselves seeking something: success, happiness, love, or a sense of purpose. Yet, the very act of seeking implies a sense of incompleteness or dissatisfaction with the present moment.
- The Nature of Seeking:
The act of seeking arises from a sense of lack or discontentment within ourselves. We may believe that we are incomplete and that by acquiring certain things or experiences, we will find happiness, fulfillment, or a sense of identity. This constant pursuit often takes us away from the present moment and perpetuates a cycle of desire and dissatisfaction.
- The Illusion of Fulfillment:
Our search for fulfillment is based on the illusion that something external can complete us or bring us lasting happiness. We may spend our lives chasing after various goals and experiences, only to find that each new attainment brings only temporary satisfaction before the desire for more arises. This endless cycle of seeking and attainment prevents us from truly experiencing the richness of life and keeps us trapped in a state of perpetual longing.
- The Path of Self-Inquiry:
To break free from the cycle of seeking, we should engage in self-inquiry – the process of examining our own thoughts, beliefs, and desires. By turning our attention inward, we can begin to question the assumptions that underlie our sense of dissatisfaction and our pursuit of fulfillment. We may discover that our desires are based on conditioned patterns of thinking and that our sense of lack is a product of our own minds.
- The Discovery of Wholeness:
As we engage in self-inquiry and delve into the nature of our seeking, we may come to realize that the sense of wholeness and fulfillment we seek is not something to be found outside ourselves. Instead, it is our true nature, obscured by the thoughts, beliefs, and desires that cloud our perception. By seeing through the illusion of our seeking and recognizing the completeness that is already present within us, we can experience a profound sense of freedom, contentment, and inner peace.
- Living in the Present Moment:
The key to transcending our seeking and experiencing the wholeness of our being lies in living fully in the present moment. By letting go of our attachment to the past and our anticipation of the future, we can open ourselves to the richness and beauty of the here and now. In this state of presence, we can experience life directly, free from the filters of our desires and expectations, and discover the true essence of what it means to be alive.
Through self-inquiry and the cultivation of presence, we can discover the wholeness and contentment that are inherent in our true nature, and experience the freedom, joy, and peace that come from living in harmony with ourselves and the world around us.
Abhishek Fanse 