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.
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.
Selflessly selfish or selfishly selfless ??
Selfishness, in its most basic sense, involves prioritizing one’s own needs, wants, and interests over those of others. This characteristic is often deemed negative due to its potential to harm others or disrupt social cohesion. However, at its root, selfishness can be traced back to our biological survival instincts. From an evolutionary perspective, selfish behavior can be seen as a natural response to the need for self-preservation. The urge to prioritize one’s own needs – for food, safety, reproduction, etc., has been integral to the survival of individuals and species across the natural world.
Psychologically, selfishness also emerges from a basic human need for self-esteem and self-actualization. We all desire to fulfill our potential, realize our dreams, and feel good about ourselves, which often involves prioritizing our needs over others. Furthermore, cognitive biases like the self-serving bias, where individuals tend to perceive situations in ways that are beneficial to themselves, can also contribute to selfish behavior.
At a socio-cultural level, factors such as upbringing, societal norms, and cultural values play a significant role in shaping our propensity towards selfishness. For example, individualistic societies that emphasize personal achievement and independence might foster more selfish behaviors than collectivist societies, where the group’s needs are prioritized over the individual’s.
Selflessness, on the other hand, involves prioritizing others’ needs and interests over one’s own. This behavior is generally regarded positively, associated with qualities like kindness, altruism, and generosity. Like selfishness, selflessness also has biological, psychological, and socio-cultural origins.
From a biological perspective, selfless behaviors can be seen as an extension of the survival instinct – not just for the individual, but for the group or species as a whole. This is evident in many social animals’ behavior, where individuals often sacrifice their interests for the group’s benefit. This is especially pronounced in kin selection, where organisms exhibit behaviors that favor the survival of their relatives, even at a cost to their own survival or reproduction.
Psychologically, selflessness is linked to empathy, the ability to understand and share others’ feelings. Empathy allows us to form deep emotional connections with others and motivates us to act in ways that benefit them. Moreover, selfless behaviors can lead to increased self-esteem and well-being, as they often elicit positive social feedback and a sense of purpose and fulfillment.
At a socio-cultural level, selflessness is often encouraged through moral and religious teachings, societal norms, and cultural values. Many societies promote altruistic behaviors as virtues, reinforcing these behaviors through social approval and other forms of positive reinforcement.
Yet, it’s important to understand that neither selfishness nor selflessness is inherently “good” or “bad.” Instead, these behaviors exist along a spectrum, and their impacts can vary greatly depending on the context. Excessive selfishness can lead to social discord and harm others, but a total lack of selfishness might result in self-neglect or exploitation. Similarly, while selflessness can foster social harmony and cooperation, excessive selflessness can lead to self-sacrifice or martyrdom, which may not always be healthy or beneficial.
Balancing selfishness and selflessness is a constant human endeavor, shaped by our biological instincts, psychological needs, and socio-cultural influences. This balance allows us to care for our own needs while also considering the needs of others, fostering mutual respect, understanding, and cooperation – vital elements for personal well-being and social harmony.
On nature’s selflessness, it’s crucial to understand that what we perceive as ‘selflessness’ is an anthropomorphic projection. Nature operates on principles of interconnectedness and interdependence, where each entity plays its role in maintaining the balance and harmony of the whole system. What we deem as ‘selfless’ is nature’s way of existing and sustaining.
It all comes down to our definitions, our intentions, and the subtleties of human behavior and consciousness.
While at first glance, selfishness and selflessness seem to represent opposite ends of the behavioral spectrum, a deeper understanding can reveal surprising overlaps. Let’s unpack this.
Firstly, it’s important to understand that our actions, whether selfish or selfless, are inherently tied to the pursuit of well-being, satisfaction, or some form of positive outcome, which in itself can be considered a ‘selfish’ motivation.
In the case of selfish actions, this is easy to understand – we engage in selfish behavior when we believe that it will bring us personal gain, happiness, or satisfaction. We are directly seeking a beneficial outcome for ourselves, often without considering the impacts on others.
However, when we look at selfless actions, things get a little more complex. When we act selflessly, we prioritize the needs and well-being of others above our own. But why do we do this? There are several reasons, and this is where the idea of selflessness potentially being ‘selfish’ comes into play.
We might act selflessly because helping others makes us feel good – it satisfies a deep-seated emotional need for connection, purpose, or moral fulfillment. In this sense, we can say that selflessness is ‘selfish’ because we are indirectly seeking a beneficial outcome for ourselves – a sense of emotional satisfaction.
This is not to say that selfless actions are insincere or less valuable because they bring us satisfaction. Quite the opposite – it demonstrates that our well-being is intricately linked with the well-being of others. When we help others, we also help ourselves. This interconnectedness is a fundamental aspect of human nature and society, and it’s what allows empathy, altruism, and cooperation to thrive.
We might also act selflessly out of a recognition of the inherent worth of others – a deep respect for life and consciousness that transcends self-interest. This kind of selflessness can be seen as ‘pure’ in the sense that it’s not motivated by a desire for personal gain. However, even this can be seen as ‘selfish’ in a broader, existential sense. If we consider ourselves as part of a larger whole – whether it’s a community, society, or the universe itself – then working towards the well-being of that whole is in our interest, as we are part of it.
To bring these thoughts full circle, consider this: both selfishness and selflessness are natural aspects of human behavior, deeply rooted in our survival instincts, emotional needs, and socio-cultural contexts. While they might seem contradictory, they are both tools we use to navigate the world, foster connections, and seek well-being. The key lies in finding a balance – understanding when to prioritize our needs and when to consider the needs of others. This delicate equilibrium enables us to live harmoniously, both with ourselves and with the world around us.
Selflessly selfish or selfishly selfless is paradoxical nature of human behavior. To be “selflessly selfish” is to act with apparent selflessness, but with an underlying self-serving motive, perhaps gaining a sense of satisfaction, a good reputation, or a subconscious expectation of reciprocation. Alternatively, to be “selfishly selfless” implies acting for personal gain, but in a way that also benefits others. It’s a reminder that pure selflessness or pure selfishness rarely exist; human motivations are often a complex mix of both.
The overlap between selfishness and selflessness could also be a reflection of our interconnectedness. From an evolutionary standpoint, altruistic behaviors can enhance the survival of our kin or social group, and thereby our own genetic legacy. In a socially interconnected world, self-interest and the interest of the community often align. In this sense, one could argue that acting in the interest of others (selflessness) is ultimately a form of self-preservation (selfishness). However, the key lies in understanding these motivations without judgment, acknowledging their existence, and seeking balance. It’s about striving to act in ways that respect our needs and those of others. After all, a healthy sense of self-interest is necessary for self-care and survival, just as a degree of selflessness is essential for social harmony and cooperation.
Our actions often serve both ourselves and others, blurring the lines between selfishness and selflessness in a beautifully complex dance of human nature.
Can actions be detached?
The origin of action can be traced back to the very fabric of life itself. Every living entity, whether it’s a single-celled organism or a complex human being, is in a continuous state of action. Even in states of seeming inactivity, there are countless actions taking place within our bodies – cells dividing, heart beating, neurons firing. These actions are not born out of attachment, but rather out of the inherent nature of life and its ceaseless dynamism.
In human beings, actions become more complex. Many of our actions stem from cognitive processes, decision-making, emotions, motivations, desires, and fears. Some of these might be influenced by past experiences or expectations of future outcomes. While it’s true that past experiences can inform our actions, it doesn’t necessarily mean that every action is an outcome of attachment to past results.
Let’s take the example of learning to ride a bike. The initial attempts are informed by the desire to learn, and perhaps the fear of falling. Each attempt, whether successful or not, provides a learning experience which informs future attempts. Over time, as we master the skill, the act of riding a bike becomes almost second nature. It’s no longer driven by the initial desire or fear, but instead becomes an integrated action that we can perform almost effortlessly. In this scenario, the action of riding the bike is not an outcome of attachment, but a manifestation of learned skills and understanding.
Now, let’s consider the concept of detached action as explained in the Bhagavad Gita. Detachment in this context does not mean indifference or lack of care, but rather a state of being where one is not excessively attached to the fruits of their actions. When we perform an action with an attached mindset, we are often excessively focused on the outcome. This focus on the future can rob the action of its full potential, as our mind is not fully present in the action itself.
Detached action, on the other hand, allows us to be fully present in the act of doing. This presence can liberate the action from the constraints of past experiences or future expectations, allowing it to unfold with its full potential. A detached action is one that is performed with a sense of duty, with full attention, and without excessive attachment to the outcome. This doesn’t mean that we don’t care about the result. Instead, it means that we perform the action to the best of our ability, accepting whatever result comes as a consequence.
An important aspect to consider here is the interconnectedness of life. Our actions do not exist in a vacuum; they are part of an interconnected web of actions, reactions, and interactions. Understanding this can help us realise that while we have control over our own actions, the results are influenced by countless other factors, many of which are beyond our control. This realisation can foster a sense of humility, acceptance, and detachment, which can free us from the psychological burden of excessively identifying with the outcomes of our actions.
Moving further into the philosophy of actions, let’s delve into the concept of ‘free will’ and ‘determinism’. These two philosophical positions often clash when we try to understand the nature of our actions.
Free will posits that we, as conscious beings, have the power to make choices and act independently of any external constraints. It suggests that our actions originate from our conscious decisions and, thus, we bear full responsibility for them.
Determinism, on the other hand, suggests that every event, including human actions, is determined by previously existing causes. It argues that all our actions are the result of some cause, whether it is our genetic predisposition, upbringing, social environment, or other factors.
Both of these positions hold some truth. While we may feel that we have the freedom to choose our actions, we cannot deny that our choices are influenced by our past experiences, genetic predisposition, and external circumstances. So, our actions are both free and determined, depending on the perspective we adopt.
When we examine our actions closely, we find that they are not purely the result of our conscious decisions. Our subconscious mind, conditioned by past experiences and deep-seated beliefs, plays a significant role in our decision-making process. So, while we might believe that we are acting freely, many of our actions are habitual reactions conditioned by our past.
Understanding this can liberate us from the illusion of absolute control and the burden of excessive self-blame or self-congratulation. It can also foster a sense of compassion for ourselves and others, as we recognise that our actions are often the result of deep-seated conditioning and external circumstances, rather than purely intentional choices.
The key lies in the practice of mindfulness and self-awareness. By becoming more aware of our thoughts, feelings, and motivations, we can start to understand the forces that drive our actions. We can recognise our habitual patterns and start to make more conscious choices.
In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna advises Arjuna to act without attachment to the fruits of action. This does not mean acting without care or intention. Rather, it means acting with full attention and commitment, without getting caught up in the anxiety about the outcome. This attitude allows us to act with greater freedom and effectiveness, as we are not burdened by excessive worry about the future or regrets about the past.
When we act, we set into motion a series of events, and the consequences of those actions ripple out into the world. The impact of our actions is not confined to ourselves; it influences those around us, our environment, and ultimately the world at large. This chain of cause and effect is constantly in motion and is dictated by the nature and intent of the action.
Duality arises from the perceived differentiation between good and bad, positive and negative, joy and pain, and so forth. This perceived differentiation often causes conflict and suffering because we instinctively cling to what we perceive as good and resist what we perceive as bad. We are pleased when our actions yield positive outcomes and disappointed when they do not.
However, the Bhagavad Gita teaches us that the dichotomy of good and bad is a construct of our mind and that every action simply is. This is a difficult concept to understand because it runs counter to our instinctual desire to classify and judge things based on our subjective perspective.
In reality, an action is neither good nor bad; it is our attachment to the outcome that labels it so. When we act without attachment to the outcome, we act in the fullest expression of our being, free from the constraints of expectation or fear of failure. This state of detachment does not mean that we do not care about the outcome, but rather that we understand we cannot control every aspect of it.
Instead, our focus shifts to the process, the action itself. By doing so, we become more present, more mindful, and more engaged in our actions. We start to see our actions not as a means to an end but as an end in themselves.
Therefore, to navigate the duality of actions and their effects, we must cultivate awareness and detachment. By observing our thoughts, emotions, and actions without judgment or expectation, we can experience life as it is, without the filter of duality.
In the grand scheme of life, our actions are but tiny ripples in a vast ocean. They may cause waves, they may create turbulence, but eventually, they will settle, leaving the water calm and clear once more. It is in this state of calmness, free from the duality of actions and their effects, that we find true freedom and peace.
Paradox of Effort and Effortlessness
In the vast expanse of the universe, there is an inherent rhythm, a flow that moves with an effortless ease. The planets orbit around the sun, the tides ebb and flow, the seasons change, all in an effortless dance of existence. This is the law of nature, the law of the universe – a state of effortless being. Yet, as human beings, we often find ourselves in a state of constant effort, pushing against the currents of life, striving to achieve, to become, to attain. This dichotomy raises a profound question – why is there effort involved in all we do when effortless is the law of nature and the universe?
To understand this paradox, we must delve into the nature of the human mind and the construct of the ‘self’. The ‘self’, or the ‘I’, is a construct of the mind, a collection of thoughts, beliefs, and experiences that we identify with. It is this ‘self’ that strives, that makes effort, that pushes against the flow of life. The ‘self’ seeks to preserve and enhance itself, to achieve and attain, to become more than what it is. This striving, this effort, is born out of a sense of incompleteness, a feeling of lack, a desire for more.
However, this constant effort, this push, is indeed in conflict with the law of the universe. It creates a sense of struggle, a feeling of being out of sync with the natural flow of life. It is like trying to swim against the current – it requires effort, struggle, and ultimately leads to exhaustion.
So, how can we align ourselves with the law of the universe, with the effortless flow of life? The key lies in understanding the nature of the ‘self’ and the illusion of effort.
The ‘self’ is not a fixed or permanent entity. It is a transient construct, a collection of thoughts, beliefs, and experiences that are constantly changing and evolving. The effort we make, the push we exert, is an attempt to hold onto this transient ‘self’, to make it permanent, to give it substance. But this is an illusion. The ‘self’ is like a river, constantly flowing, constantly changing. Trying to hold onto it is like trying to hold onto water – it slips through our fingers, leaving us empty-handed.
When we realize this, when we see the transient nature of the ‘self’, the illusion of effort begins to dissolve. We see that there is nothing to hold onto, nothing to strive for, nothing to become. We see that we are already part of the effortless flow of life, that we are already in sync with the law of the universe. We see that effort is not necessary, that it is a product of our misunderstanding, our misperception.
This realization brings a profound shift in our approach to life. Instead of striving, we start being. Instead of pushing, we start flowing. Instead of making effort, we start living effortlessly. We align ourselves with the law of the universe, with the effortless flow of life. We become like the planets orbiting around the sun, the tides ebbing and flowing, the seasons changing – moving with an effortless ease, in harmony with the universe.
The paradox of effort and effortlessness is a reflection of our misunderstanding of the ‘self’ and the law of the universe. When we understand the transient nature of the ‘self’ and the effortless flow of the universe, we can let go of effort and align ourselves with the natural rhythms of life. This is not a state of passivity or inaction, but a state of active surrender, of conscious participation in the dance of existence. It is a state of being inflow, of moving with the currents of life, of living in harmony with the universe.
Effort arises from the illusion of separateness, from the belief in a separate ‘self’ that needs to strive, to achieve, to become. It is a product of the mind, a manifestation of the ego. The ego seeks to preserve and enhance itself, to assert its existence, to prove its worth. It believes that it needs to make effort, to push, to strive, in order to survive and succeed.
But this is a misunderstanding. The ‘self’, the ego, is not a separate entity, but a part of the whole, a wave in the ocean of existence. It does not need to strive or struggle, for it is already part of the effortless flow of life. It is already in harmony with the law of the universe.
When we realize this, when we see the illusion of the separate ‘self’ and the futility of effort, we can let go. We can surrender to the flow of life, to the effortless ease of existence. We can stop pushing, stop striving, stop struggling. We can simply be, simply flow, simply exist.
This does not mean that we become passive or inactive. On the contrary, we become more active, more engaged, more alive. But our action is not born out of effort or struggle, but out of alignment with the flow of life. It is not a push, but a flow. It is not a fight, but a dance.
We move with the currents of life, not against them. We dance with the rhythms of existence, not against them. We flow with the river of life, not against it. We become one with the universe, in harmony with its laws, in sync with its rhythms.
This is the state of effortless living, of being in flow, of being in harmony with the universe. It is a state of grace, of peace, of joy. It is our natural state, our true nature, our birthright.
So, let us let go of effort, let go of struggle, let go of the illusion of the separate ‘self’. Let us align ourselves with the flow of life, with the law of the universe. Let us live effortlessly, flowingly, joyously. Let us dance with the rhythms of existence, with the music of the universe. Let us be in harmony with all that is, with all that we are.
In the end, it is not about putting away fear or effort, but about understanding their nature and their roots. It is about seeing the illusion of the separate ‘self’ and the futility of effort. It is about aligning ourselves with the flow of life, with the law of the universe. It is about living effortlessly, flowingly, joyously. It is about being in harmony with all that is, with all that we are. It is about being, simply being, in the here and now, in the eternal present, in the heart of existence.
Paradox of Effort and Effortlessness
In the vast expanse of the universe, there is an inherent rhythm, a flow that moves with an effortless ease. The planets orbit around the sun, the tides ebb and flow, the seasons change, all in an effortless dance of existence. This is the law of nature, the law of the universe – a state of effortless being. Yet, as human beings, we often find ourselves in a state of constant effort, pushing against the currents of life, striving to achieve, to become, to attain. This dichotomy raises a profound question – why is there effort involved in all we do when effortless is the law of nature and the universe?
To understand this paradox, we must delve into the nature of the human mind and the construct of the ‘self’. The ‘self’, or the ‘I’, is a construct of the mind, a collection of thoughts, beliefs, and experiences that we identify with. It is this ‘self’ that strives, that makes effort, that pushes against the flow of life. The ‘self’ seeks to preserve and enhance itself, to achieve and attain, to become more than what it is. This striving, this effort, is born out of a sense of incompleteness, a feeling of lack, a desire for more.
However, this constant effort, this push, is indeed in conflict with the law of the universe. It creates a sense of struggle, a feeling of being out of sync with the natural flow of life. It is like trying to swim against the current – it requires effort, struggle, and ultimately leads to exhaustion.
So, how can we align ourselves with the law of the universe, with the effortless flow of life? The key lies in understanding the nature of the ‘self’ and the illusion of effort.
The ‘self’ is not a fixed or permanent entity. It is a transient construct, a collection of thoughts, beliefs, and experiences that are constantly changing and evolving. The effort we make, the push we exert, is an attempt to hold onto this transient ‘self’, to make it permanent, to give it substance. But this is an illusion. The ‘self’ is like a river, constantly flowing, constantly changing. Trying to hold onto it is like trying to hold onto water – it slips through our fingers, leaving us empty-handed.
When we realize this, when we see the transient nature of the ‘self’, the illusion of effort begins to dissolve. We see that there is nothing to hold onto, nothing to strive for, nothing to become. We see that we are already part of the effortless flow of life, that we are already in sync with the law of the universe. We see that effort is not necessary, that it is a product of our misunderstanding, our misperception.
This realization brings a profound shift in our approach to life. Instead of striving, we start being. Instead of pushing, we start flowing. Instead of making effort, we start living effortlessly. We align ourselves with the law of the universe, with the effortless flow of life. We become like the planets orbiting around the sun, the tides ebbing and flowing, the seasons changing – moving with an effortless ease, in harmony with the universe.
The paradox of effort and effortlessness is a reflection of our misunderstanding of the ‘self’ and the law of the universe. When we understand the transient nature of the ‘self’ and the effortless flow of the universe, we can let go of effort and align ourselves with the natural rhythms of life. This is not a state of passivity or inaction, but a state of active surrender, of conscious participation in the dance of existence. It is a state of being inflow, of moving with the currents of life, of living in harmony with the universe.
Effort arises from the illusion of separateness, from the belief in a separate ‘self’ that needs to strive, to achieve, to become. It is a product of the mind, a manifestation of the ego. The ego seeks to preserve and enhance itself, to assert its existence, to prove its worth. It believes that it needs to make effort, to push, to strive, in order to survive and succeed.
But this is a misunderstanding. The ‘self’, the ego, is not a separate entity, but a part of the whole, a wave in the ocean of existence. It does not need to strive or struggle, for it is already part of the effortless flow of life. It is already in harmony with the law of the universe.
When we realize this, when we see the illusion of the separate ‘self’ and the futility of effort, we can let go. We can surrender to the flow of life, to the effortless ease of existence. We can stop pushing, stop striving, stop struggling. We can simply be, simply flow, simply exist.
This does not mean that we become passive or inactive. On the contrary, we become more active, more engaged, more alive. But our action is not born out of effort or struggle, but out of alignment with the flow of life. It is not a push, but a flow. It is not a fight, but a dance.
We move with the currents of life, not against them. We dance with the rhythms of existence, not against them. We flow with the river of life, not against it. We become one with the universe, in harmony with its laws, in sync with its rhythms.
This is the state of effortless living, of being in flow, of being in harmony with the universe. It is a state of grace, of peace, of joy. It is our natural state, our true nature, our birthright.
So, let us let go of effort, let go of struggle, let go of the illusion of the separate ‘self’. Let us align ourselves with the flow of life, with the law of the universe. Let us live effortlessly, flowingly, joyously. Let us dance with the rhythms of existence, with the music of the universe. Let us be in harmony with all that is, with all that we are.
In the end, it is not about putting away fear or effort, but about understanding their nature and their roots. It is about seeing the illusion of the separate ‘self’ and the futility of effort. It is about aligning ourselves with the flow of life, with the law of the universe. It is about living effortlessly, flowingly, joyously. It is about being in harmony with all that is, with all that we are. It is about being, simply being, in the here and now, in the eternal present, in the heart of existence.
Abhishek Fanse 