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.
Needs – Fulfilment or imaginary?
At its core, ‘need’ represents a perceived lack within our lives. Whether it’s a need for something material like food or shelter, or something psychological such as love or acceptance, every need suggests that something essential is missing. Desire, according to Buddhist philosophy, leads to suffering because it perpetuates a state of lacking and grasping. When needs arise, they disturb our peace by suggesting that our current state is insufficient.
When a need is fulfilled, it confirms its existence as something genuine. For example, the need for nourishment is affirmed as real when eating relieves the pangs of hunger. Here, the need aligns with a fundamental requirement for survival. Conversely, if a need fades away without being fulfilled, one might argue it was never a true need but rather a transient desire. This observation is particularly relevant in the context of emotional or psychological needs, where distinguishing between deep-seated necessities and superficial wants becomes complex.
The paradox lies in the dual nature of needs as both real and illusory. On one hand, certain needs are indisputably real, as their fulfillment directly pertains to survival and well-being. On the other, many needs, when scrutinized, reveal themselves as constructs of the mind, shaped by societal, cultural, and personal expectations and conditioning. Stoic philosophy, for instance, teaches the value of distinguishing between what we can control and what we cannot, urging a detachment from external desires and an acceptance of what is. This detachment is not about suppression of need but rather a profound understanding of the ephemerality of external conditions.
Existentially, needs can be viewed as anchors that give meaning to our lives. Yet, this meaning is often predicated on the continual pursuit of fulfillment, which can lead to an endless cycle of desire and disappointment. Spiritually, transcending needs can be seen as a path to enlightenment, where one achieves a state of contentment and unity with all existence, free from the dualities of lack and fulfillment. Exploring the concept of need across both living and non-living entities broadens our understanding of the fundamental nature of existence. In living beings, needs are typically biologically or psychologically driven, manifesting as impulses towards survival, reproduction, and social bonding. In contrast, the ‘needs’ of non-living entities—such as the need for maintenance or preservation—are attributed by human perspectives, often reflecting our own values or necessities imposed upon objects or systems.
When a need vanishes without fulfillment, it raises profound questions about its existence. Was it a real need, or merely a temporary desire? This question aligns with the philosophical inquiry into the nature of being and non-being. In metaphysical terms, the disappearance of a need without fulfillment suggests that it may have been a contingent, not a necessary state. Contingent needs are dependent on specific conditions and perceptions, which can change over time and context, leading to the dissolution of the perceived need. The journey towards fulfilling a need is often fraught with turmoil and dissatisfaction. This chaos, particularly evident in the human experience, stems from the tension between current states of lack and the anticipated states of fulfillment. Psychologically, this turmoil can be seen in the frustration, anxiety, and even despair that arise in the pursuit of unmet needs. The existential tension here is the human confrontation with limitation and imperfection.
Philosophically, the condition of being ‘in need’ can be seen as a fundamental aspect of the human condition. Existential philosophers have long grappled with the notion of lack as a core component of existence. Jean-Paul Sartre, for instance, discussed how human consciousness is defined by a lack—being “for-itself” implies a constant striving towards an elusive “in-itself,” a state of being that remains perpetually out of reach, creating a perpetual state of desire and resultant existential void.
From another perspective, the chaos and discomfort experienced in the face of unmet needs can also be transformative. This aligns with the concept of “creative destruction” in economic theory, where old structures must be destroyed to make way for new, potentially more adaptive arrangements. Psychologically, enduring the discomfort of unfulfilled needs can lead to personal growth, resilience, and a deeper understanding of oneself and one’s true priorities. In spiritual traditions, particularly those influenced by non-dualistic philosophies, the ultimate aim is often described as transcending need altogether. This transcendence is not about achieving a state where no physical or psychological needs exist, but rather reaching a state of consciousness where one is no longer enslaved by those needs. This state is characterized by a profound inner peace and contentment, where external conditions no longer dictate one’s inner state. Thus, the existence of need, its fulfillment, or its vanishing without impact each carry significant implications. These phenomena invite us to reflect on the ephemeral and often illusory nature of needs. They challenge us to consider whether true fulfillment comes from satisfying every need or from cultivating a state of being that is free from the tyranny of need.
As we delve further into the dynamics of need and its fulfillment, it becomes crucial to distinguish between short-term satisfaction and long-term fulfillment. Immediate resolution of needs often brings temporary relief, but the underlying drivers—whether emotional, psychological, or spiritual—may still persist. This introduces a cyclical pattern where fulfilled needs may resurface or evolve into new desires, suggesting that the root of need is not merely in the external lack but in a deeper, internal void. Existentially, the concept of need pushes individuals to confront their freedom and responsibility. Jean-Paul Sartre’s idea of existential freedom suggests that while we are free to pursue our needs, we are also responsible for the choices we make in response to these needs. This freedom is double-edged; it empowers but also burdens us with the responsibility of discernment and decision-making, highlighting the existential challenge of navigating needs without clear, predefined paths. The pursuit of fulfilling all needs can create an illusion that perpetual satisfaction is attainable. This illusion can lead to constant striving and dissatisfaction, as each fulfilled need often gives rise to new desires. Philosophically, this reflects the Buddhist teaching on the nature of desire and suffering. Recognizing this cycle can lead to a profound existential and spiritual inquiry: Is there an end to need, or is the human condition inherently defined by endless desire?
In spiritual traditions, particularly those advocating non-attachment and detachment, the ultimate freedom is described as a state of needlessness. This does not imply a lack of engagement with the world but rather an engagement that is free from the compulsion of needs. Achieving such a state is often described as enlightenment, where one exists in complete harmony with the universe, undisturbed by individual desires and aversions. One of the central paradoxes in the realm of need is the tension between dependence and independence. On one hand, fulfilling basic needs often requires interdependence—relying on others and the environment, which seemingly contradicts the ideal of self-sufficiency. On the other hand, the more we fulfill certain needs, the more autonomous we may become, capable of pursuing higher, more abstract needs such as self-actualization. Yet, this pursuit can lead back to new dependencies, such as the need for validation or intellectual stimulation, illustrating a cyclical return to interdependence.
Needs emerge from a sense of lack or emptiness, driving us to seek fulfillment to feel complete. Paradoxically, this quest for completion through fulfilling needs can deepen the sense of emptiness, as each fulfillment often reveals new voids. This reflects the Buddhist notion that desire (and its fulfillment) inherently leads to suffering due to the impermanent nature of all conditioned phenomena. Thus, the very act of seeking wholeness through external fulfillment paradoxically perpetuates emptiness. Another paradox lies in the relationship between desire and liberation. In many spiritual traditions, liberation is attained through the cessation of desire. However, the initial movement towards liberation itself arises from a desire—the desire to be free from suffering. This presents a fundamental paradox: one must harness desire to ultimately transcend all desires. The path to liberation, therefore, involves navigating through desires in a way that gradually diminishes their power over one’s state of being. The pursuit of self-improvement is often driven by the recognition of one’s needs and deficiencies. This pursuit, intended to overcome limitations, paradoxically reaffirms those limitations by constantly highlighting areas of lack. The more one engages in self-improvement, the more one might become aware of further imperfections, potentially leading to a never-ending cycle of self-enhancement and the persistent sense of being ‘not enough.’
The ultimate understanding is that distinctions between need and fulfillment are illusory—both are manifestations of the same underlying reality, perceived differently due to mental conditioning and dualistic thinking. Here, the paradox is that need and its resolution are not truly separate; they are two sides of the same coin. Recognizing this non-duality can lead to a profound shift in how one experiences need and fulfillment, seeing them not as opposing forces but as interconnected aspects of life’s unfolding.
Mystique of Manifestation: Sculpting Reality
To understand manifestation, we must journey back to ancient philosophies and spiritual teachings. In Eastern philosophies, particularly within Hinduism and Buddhism, the concept of ‘Sankalpa’ or intention is paramount. It suggests that focused intention with a clear vision and a pure heart, has the power to shape one’s reality. This aligns closely with the Buddhist teaching of ‘Pratītyasamutpāda’ or dependent origination, which posits that all phenomena arise in interdependence and not in isolation. In Western thought, traces of manifestation can be found in the works of philosophers like Aristotle, who emphasized the power of potentiality and actuality – the transformation of what ‘could be’ into what ‘is’. This idea was further nuanced in the Hermetic traditions, particularly in the principle of ‘As above, so below’, suggesting a mirror-like relationship between the macrocosm (the universe) and the microcosm (the individual). In psychology, manifestation finds resonance with the theory of self-fulfilling prophecy and the placebo effect. The former, proposed by sociologist Robert K. Merton, argues that believing in a certain outcome can indeed cause it to occur, primarily through the lens of expectation influencing behavior. The placebo effect, a well-documented phenomenon in medical science, further illustrates how belief can result in tangible changes in the physical body.
Is manifestation empirical or imaginary? The answer is nuanced. While certain aspects, like the placebo effect, have empirical evidence, other elements tread into the subjective and personal realms of belief and faith, which evade empirical scrutiny.
When individuals set an intention, their subconscious mind begins aligning thoughts and actions towards the desired outcome. This alignment can often result in heightened awareness of opportunities and a greater propensity to take actions that lead towards the goal. Manifestation often emphasizes the importance of ‘feeling’ the reality of the desired outcome. This emotional resonance might act as a catalyst for more profound engagement with one’s goals, thereby increasing the likelihood of their realization. Manifestation is not a magic wand. The constraints of physical reality, combined with personal limitations (skills, resources, timing), play a significant role. Moreover, a misunderstanding of manifestation as merely ‘wishing’ without corresponding action leads to its ineffectiveness. The universe is not entirely predictable. Random events and external factors beyond one’s control can influence outcomes, irrespective of one’s intentions or actions.
Manifestation often works more effectively at the level of basic needs because these needs are more deeply connected to our survival instincts and thus, may be more intensely focused upon. Desires, especially those that are more whimsical or less aligned with our core values and needs, might not hold the same power in our psyche, leading to lesser focus and energy directed towards them.
Psychologically, when we set an intention to manifest something, it often creates a state of cognitive dissonance – a psychological tension between our current reality and our desired state. Leon Festinger’s theory suggests that we are intrinsically motivated to reduce this dissonance. This motivation can lead to a change in attitude or behavior, aligning more closely with the desired outcome. When we are focused on manifesting a particular outcome, we tend to notice and give importance to events and information that support our beliefs or desires. This selective attention can sometimes make the process of manifestation seem more effective than it might objectively be. A common misconception is that manifestation is solely about attracting what you desire through thought. This overlooks the necessity of action and the multifaceted nature of human experiences where external factors and chance also play significant roles. While the idea of manifesting one’s destiny is empowering, it can oversimplify the complexities of life’s challenges. Issues like systemic inequality, health problems, and other factors often cannot be resolved merely through positive thinking or intention setting.
The subconscious mind is a powerful aspect of our psyche, operating below the level of conscious awareness. It plays a critical role in manifestation. Our deep-seated beliefs, often formed in childhood and shaped by our experiences, reside here. These beliefs can either propel us towards our goals or hold us back. The process of manifestation often involves reprogramming the subconscious to align with our conscious desires. Visualization, a key technique in manifestation practices, leverages the brain’s neuroplasticity. By repeatedly visualizing a desired outcome, we can potentially rewire our brain to be more attuned to opportunities and actions that can make the visualization a reality. This practice can create mental and emotional readiness, aligning our internal state with our external actions. The power of manifestation comes with responsibility. It raises questions about ethics and intentions. For instance, manifesting at the expense of others or for purely selfish gains goes against many spiritual teachings’ emphasis on compassion and interconnectedness.
Carl Jung’s concept of the Shadow Self is pivotal in understanding manifestation. The Shadow encompasses the parts of ourselves we reject or ignore. When these aspects are unacknowledged, they can sabotage our manifesting efforts. For instance, if someone desires success but subconsciously harbors a fear of failure or unworthiness, these shadow elements can hinder manifestation. The nature of desire itself is complex. Desires are not always straightforward or conscious. They can be influenced by societal expectations, past traumas, or unmet childhood needs. Understanding and untangling these desires is crucial in manifestation, as conflicting or unconscious desires can lead to mixed results or unfulfilled outcomes.
Many spiritual traditions, such as Buddhism, advocate for non-attachment to outcomes. This presents a paradox in manifestation: How does one intensely desire and visualize an outcome while simultaneously practicing detachment from it? Balancing intense desire with a state of inner peace and acceptance is a nuanced aspect of manifestation. At the heart of this complexity is the human psyche itself, an intricate and layered entity. The conscious mind, where intentions and desires are actively formed, is just the tip of the iceberg. Beneath this lies the vast expanse of the subconscious, a realm filled with deeply ingrained beliefs, past experiences, and emotional patterns. Often, these subconscious elements are not in complete harmony with our conscious desires. This discord can subtly undermine our efforts at manifestation, creating an internal resistance that might not be immediately apparent. This inner landscape is often a repository of contradictory desires, fears, and conditioning from past experiences. For instance, a person might consciously desire success but subconsciously fear it due to past experiences of failure or a deep-seated belief that they are unworthy of success. These subconscious elements create a complex inner dialogue, often leading to a manifestation process that is less straightforward and more convoluted than initially assumed.
A central paradox in the art of manifestation is the balance between control and surrender. On one hand, manifestation requires a clear vision and proactive effort towards achieving our goals. On the other hand, there is a need for surrender – an acceptance of the unknown and an acknowledgment that not everything is within our control.
This balance is not a static state but a dynamic equilibrium, constantly shifting as we navigate through life. It involves recognizing our co-creative role in the universe while also understanding that the universe has its own wisdom and timing. In many spiritual traditions, this surrender is not seen as a weakness but as a strength – a deep trust in the larger cosmic order.
Manifestation is also intimately tied to the concepts of timing and synchronicity. The universe operates on its own rhythms and cycles, which do not always align with our personal timelines. Sometimes, what we wish for does not manifest not because the intention is flawed, but because the timing is not right. Synchronicity, a term coined by Carl Jung, refers to meaningful coincidences that seem to defy conventional explanations. In the context of manifestation, synchronicity can be seen as the universe’s way of aligning our intentions with the right opportunities and connections. These synchronicities are often markers that we are in harmony with the larger flow of life, guiding us towards our goals in ways that our rational minds may not immediately comprehend.
If we’re not tired of reading, let’s delve deeper into it to understand the finer nuances of “Manifesting in the Now”!
When we manifest in the now, our focus is not on a future goal but on the quality and richness of our present experience. This form of manifestation is about aligning with the current moment, fully engaging with it, and allowing it to unfold naturally. It’s a state of being deeply rooted in the present, where every action and thought is an expression of our intention to be fully alive and aware in the here and now. In this state, the power of manifestation is not directed toward changing or obtaining something in the future, but in transforming the present moment. It’s about bringing a quality of awareness, gratitude, and intentionality to whatever we are experiencing. This approach often involves a heightened sense of awareness and mindfulness, where each action and thought is infused with a conscious presence.
Manifesting in the now aligns closely with the concept of non-attachment found in various spiritual traditions. Non-attachment doesn’t mean not caring about outcomes; rather, it’s about not being controlled by the desire for specific outcomes. This approach allows for a more fluid interaction with life, where one is open to the myriad possibilities that each moment presents, free from the constraints of rigid expectations. The ‘now’ is often viewed as the only true reality. Past and future are seen as constructs of the mind, illusions that distract from the full experience of life. In this context, manifesting in the now becomes a practice of deep spiritual significance. It’s about aligning with the eternal present, where all of life’s potentialities exist in a state of pure possibility.
Here Time is realised as an illusion, a linear construct that confines the boundless nature of consciousness. By focusing on manifesting in the now, one steps out of the confines of chronological time and into a more fluid, timeless state of being. This state is often described as experiencing the eternal ‘now’, where every moment holds infinite potential and is complete in itself. The concept of desire is paradoxical. While desires are seen as natural, there’s an emphasis on non-attachment to them. Manifesting in the now, therefore, involves a balance between honoring one’s desires and simultaneously releasing attachment to their outcomes. It’s about fully engaging with life as it is, without being ensnared by the relentless pursuit of specific goals.
Intention is more than just a goal or a desire. It’s a powerful force that shapes the energy and direction of our lives. By focusing on the present, intentions are set not for future outcomes but for the quality and experience of the present moment. Manifesting in the now is seen as a tool for the transformation of consciousness. It shifts the focus from external achievements to internal growth and understanding, fostering a deeper connection with the self and the universe. This practice aligns with the belief that the universe operates in a state of perfect harmony and balance. By focusing on the now, one aligns with this cosmic rhythm, experiencing life as a seamless flow rather than a series of disjointed events.
Let’s touch little bit on the illusion of separation as well – the false belief that we are distinct and isolated from the rest of existence. This illusion is perpetuated by our adherence to linear time. In the practice of manifesting in the now, this illusion begins to fade. The present moment is understood not as a fleeting point between past and future, but as the eternal ‘now’ – a timeless space where all of existence converges.
Consciousness is not static but fluid and ever-changing. It’s like a river flowing through the landscape of reality, constantly reshaped by its interactions with the external world and internal states. Manifesting in the now becomes an act of navigating this fluidity, understanding the transient nature of thoughts and emotions, and aligning with the deeper currents of consciousness.
The deepest aspect of manifesting in the now is self-realization – the understanding of one’s true nature beyond the ego and individual identity. In this state, manifestation is not about bringing desires into reality but realizing that one’s essential nature is already whole and complete. In this space, manifestation is experienced as an alignment with the cosmic dance of creation, where the distinction between the manifestor and the manifested blurs with the ultimate realisation “Manifestor is manifested”.
The Mirrored Self: Reflections of the Experiencer and Experienced
Experience, by its very nature, is inherently subjective. It is the culmination of one’s perceptions, interpretations, emotions, and cognitive processes. Every individual, with their unique personal history, values, beliefs, and physiological makeup, encounters the world in a way that is uniquely their own. For instance, two people might stand before a work of art—one sees profound beauty and feels deep emotion, while the other simply sees colors on canvas. Both are valid experiences, but they differ drastically based on the individual’s subjective lens.
Yet, the objective reality of the world persists. The artwork, the physical colors, and brushstrokes remain constant. It’s this duality of the objective and subjective that creates the richness of human experience. We all share the same objective world, but our subjective interpretations of it vary widely, leading to an immense diversity of human thought, emotion, and expression.
Despite the deeply personal nature of experience, there exists within us a contrary desire to communicate and validate our experiences with others. This need can be attributed to our inherently social nature. As social beings, we have an innate drive to connect, to be understood, and to find commonality with others.
However, the act of communication is fraught with challenges. Language, while powerful, often falls short of capturing the full depth and nuance of our experiences. Words are mere approximations, often failing to convey the entirety of what we feel or perceive. When faced with the ineffability of certain experiences, humans may resort to crafting stories, metaphors, or beliefs to encapsulate and convey the essence of their experiences to others. While these may not represent the experience in its entirety, they offer a bridge, a means to connect with others and share a glimpse of our internal world.
Consider an example of observing a tree. The act of seeing is immediate and direct, but the moment we try to articulate the experience, we find ourselves grappling with memory, association, and linguistic constraints. If the tree is of a kind we’ve never seen before, we still try to relate it to what we know, drawing parallels and making distinctions. This process, while it can enrich our understanding, can also distance us from the immediacy of the experience itself.
This leads us to the profound realization that perhaps the “experiencer” is indeed the “experienced.” Every thought, sensation, or emotion we have is not just a passive observation but an active engagement with our internal and external realities. The very act of experiencing reshapes our understanding, influencing future experiences in a continuously evolving cycle. One could argue that the realm of art, music, poetry, and other forms of non-verbal expression arises from this very challenge. When words fail, a painting, a melody, or a dance can capture and convey those intangible feelings and thoughts. They provide a medium that transcends linguistic barriers, offering glimpses into those profound depths of human experience. It’s no surprise that many people, when moved by a piece of art or music, often exclaim, “That’s exactly how I feel!” even if they couldn’t previously articulate that feeling.
Every individual, in their quest to understand and make sense of their experiences, inevitably draws from the collective knowledge and wisdom of humanity. Philosophies, religious teachings, scientific discoveries, and cultural narratives all play a role in shaping how one interprets and understands their experiences. They provide frameworks and lenses through which experiences are viewed, digested, and integrated.
This interplay between the individual and the collective further emphasizes the inherent tension between subjectivity and objectivity. While personal experiences are deeply subjective, the frameworks we use to understand them often have objective, shared components. A sunset viewed by an individual might evoke a personal memory or emotion, but the scientific understanding of why sunsets appear as they do, or the cultural or poetic interpretations of sunsets, come from collective human knowledge. Moreover, as individuals continue to share and communicate their experiences, they contribute to the collective understanding, which in turn shapes future individual and collective experiences. It’s a dynamic, reciprocal relationship, highlighting the interconnectedness of humanity.
The inherent elusiveness of pure experience, the ever-present gap between what is felt and what can be communicated, reminds us of the limitations of our human condition. Yet, it also highlights the beauty and depth of our existence. In our attempts to bridge this gap, we engage in some of the most profound human endeavors: art, literature, philosophy, and spirituality. Through these mediums, we continuously strive to touch the intangible, to grasp the ungraspable, and to share the very essence of what it means to be human.
Experience, in its fullest form, requires presence. To truly experience is to be fully in the moment, unburdened by the past and undistracted by the future. It’s here, in the pure and unfiltered present, that the experiencer and the experienced merge. This idea echoes in various spiritual traditions which posit that in moments of true presence, the duality of observer and observed collapses. Such moments, where one feels at one with the world, are often described as transcendent or mystical. They hint at a deeper interconnectedness, a web of existence that binds all things.
Yet, despite these profound moments, the human condition is also characterized by a fundamental sense of separateness. It’s this very separateness that gives rise to the desire to communicate, to reach out, to bridge the gap between self and other. We yearn to share, to be understood, and to understand. This yearning, however, is fraught with challenges. As earlier mentioned, the depth and richness of personal experience often evade linguistic encapsulation. But it’s not just about the inadequacy of language; it’s also about the limitations of perception.
Going into depths, In day-to-day life, we’re accustomed to distinguishing ourselves from our environment. We say “I am looking at the tree,” naturally separating the ‘I’ (experiencer) from the ‘tree’ (experienced). However, if we deconstruct this process, things become more intriguing. When you observe a tree, light reflected from its leaves and bark enters your eyes, gets processed by your brain, and forms an image. Here, the ‘tree’ you perceive isn’t the physical entity outside; it’s a manifestation within your consciousness. The tree, as you know it, exists within you, blurring the lines between the observer and the observed. Now, extend this idea to all experiences. Sounds you hear, emotions you feel, even thoughts that arise — all these are not ‘external’ or ‘separate’ events, but transformations within your field of consciousness. You never truly experience the world directly; you experience your consciousness’s interpretation of the world. This realization is profound: it suggests that what we consider ‘external’ is intricately woven into our ‘internal’ realms of experience. The division between us and the universe isn’t as sharp as it might seem.
Many spiritual traditions suggest that this feeling of separateness is a kind of illusion, often termed ‘maya’ in Hinduism. Beneath this illusion, it is proposed that there’s a deeper, unified reality where all distinctions merge. The Zen Buddhist concept of ‘interbeing’ beautifully encapsulates this: nothing exists independently; everything inter-is with everything else. So, in this interconnected dance of existence, to say “I am experiencing the tree” might be more aptly expressed as “The universe, in the form of ‘me’, is experiencing the universe in the form of ‘tree’.”
Exploring this further, we confront the nature of the ‘self’. If the experiencer and the experienced are one, what does this mean for our sense of identity? Who is the ‘I’ that experiences? These questions lie at the heart of self-inquiry in traditions like Advaita Vedanta, where meditative introspection is used to peel back layers of identity, seeking the true Self or ‘Atman’ beneath.
When one begins to deeply contemplate these ideas, the boundaries of self start to dissolve. This can lead to transformative experiences, often described as feelings of oneness or unity with all of existence. Such experiences are marked by a dissolution of the ego, a fading of the habitual sense of separateness. Individuals who have undergone such experiences often describe them as the most profound and meaningful of their lives, reshaping their understanding of themselves and the universe. However, embodying this perspective consistently in daily life is challenging. We’re evolutionarily wired to perceive separateness, as it’s useful for survival. But periodic glimpses into the interconnectedness of all things can offer solace, meaning, and a sense of belonging in a vast universe. They remind us that even amidst the diversity and multiplicity of existence, at the deepest levels, perhaps the experiencer truly is the experienced.
If we consider consciousness to be all-encompassing, then everything we experience is a manifestation within this field of awareness. This perspective aligns with the concept of non-duality, where there’s no division between the self and the rest of existence. In this view, consciousness isn’t something we have; it’s what we are. Our individual sense of self, our thoughts, emotions, and the world we perceive are all arising within and made of this same foundational consciousness.
When we say “I am experiencing this,” who is this ‘I’? Psychologically, it refers to the ego—a mental construct that represents our individual identity. The ego is essential for our survival and functioning, but it also gives us a sense of separateness. From birth, we’re conditioned by society, family, and culture, creating layers of beliefs, desires, and fears that shape this ego. We start identifying with our thoughts, our bodies, our roles, and possessions, forgetting our intrinsic connection with the wider universe. The ego, being a construct, is fragile. It seeks validation and fears annihilation. This is why even after a profound experience, there’s an urge to share or validate it. The ego wants assurance that its interpretation of the experience is ‘real’ or ‘valid’. In moments of deep meditation or spiritual insight, the boundaries of the ego can dissolve, giving a person a glimpse of a reality beyond the constructed self—a state where the experiencer and the experienced merge.
Our understanding of reality is based on our sensory perceptions and cognitive interpretations. But our senses have limits. There’s a vast spectrum of light we can’t see, sounds we can’t hear, and dimensions of reality we might be oblivious to. Quantum mechanics, for instance, has shown that at fundamental levels, particles don’t have definite states until observed, challenging our classical views of reality. Could it be that reality, as we perceive it, is just a sliver of what’s truly out there? And if our very observation shapes reality (as quantum mechanics suggests), then the distinction between the observer and the observed becomes even more blurred. The act of experiencing might be intrinsically linked to the shaping of reality itself. Finally, the experience, consciousness, and reality challenges our conventional beliefs and invites us question, to meditate, introspect and to realize that our fundamental nature might be far more interconnected and expansive than our day-to-day experiences suggest. The dance between the experiencer and the experienced isn’t just a philosophical or spiritual inquiry; it’s a journey into the very heart of existence!!
The Clarity in Uncertainty – Dance between Fog and Focus
The tension between clarity and unclarity seems to be rooted in the human condition itself. Our minds are built to seek patterns, to make sense of the world, and to resolve ambiguity. When things are unclear, we often experience discomfort because it conflicts with our innate desire for resolution and understanding. Unclarity poses a challenge, and humans are generally wired to confront and solve challenges; it’s a basic survival instinct.
However, once we achieve clarity, the “puzzle” is solved, the “problem” is resolved, and the thing that engaged our curiosity and problem-solving abilities no longer does so in the same way. The mind then moves on to the next challenge. It’s a kind of restlessness that keeps us evolving, learning, and growing, but it can also be a source of dissatisfaction or even suffering.
The reason why unclarity is challenging could be because it disrupts our sense of control. Clarity gives us the illusion of control, of being able to predict and manipulate our environment effectively. However, life is full of complexities and dualities that resist simple explanations or solutions. That’s why even when we feel we’ve achieved some clarity, it often seems limited or provisional.
This issue also brushes up against existential and spiritual concerns that have fascinated philosophers and religious thinkers for centuries. The idea that life is fundamentally uncertain and that we must find a way to live with this uncertainty is a central theme in many worldviews. It raises questions about how to live a meaningful life within the constraints of our limited understanding and control. Our relationship with unclarity can also change over time and with experience. As we age, we might find that we become more comfortable with shades of gray, more accepting of the limitations of our knowledge and control. Some people find great peace in embracing the mysteries of life, in recognizing the limitations of human cognition and the vastness of what we don’t know.
But this is often a hard-won wisdom, coming after years, or even decades, of grappling with the discomfort and challenges that unclarity brings. Some of the greatest minds in history have discussed the virtue of embracing uncertainty. Scientists, for example, thrive on it; it’s the engine that drives scientific inquiry. For artists, ambiguity can be a rich source of inspiration, a space where new ideas and forms can emerge. In spiritual practices, the embracing of mystery is often considered a path to deeper understanding and enlightenment.
This doesn’t make the process of dealing with unclarity any less challenging, but it may offer a different perspective on why this is such a universal human experience. It might not be something to be solved or eradicated but a fundamental aspect of the human condition to be explored, understood, and even embraced.
In other words, both clarity and unclarity have their roles in our lives, offering different kinds of lessons and opportunities for growth. Clarity can offer us direction and a sense of purpose, but it can also make us complacent or narrow in our thinking. Unclarity, on the other hand, while often uncomfortable, pushes us to question, explore, and stretch our boundaries.
Think of it as a sort of dance. Sometimes, life leads with clarity, providing us with straightforward answers, well-defined goals, and unambiguous directions. At other times, it leads with unclarity, challenging us with questions, uncertainties, and complex dilemmas that don’t have easy answers. Both stances have their own unique beauty and can enrich our lives in different ways.
The key might be learning how to navigate between these two states, knowing when to seek clarity and when to embrace uncertainty, how to balance our need for concrete answers with a willingness to dwell in ambiguity. And most importantly, how to find a sense of peace and even joy in that ongoing dance between the known and the unknown. So while the discomfort and challenge of unclarity can be difficult to live with, they also serve as catalysts for growth, pushing us to evolve and adapt in ways we might not have otherwise. After all, if life were entirely predictable and clear-cut, would it hold the same richness and potential for growth? Perhaps not.
Human nature is inclined toward a preference for clarity because it gives us a sense of control. When things are clear, we know what to expect, how to behave, what choices to make, and that gives us comfort. Clarity aligns with our need for stability and security.
On the other hand, unclarity often provokes discomfort because it takes away our sense of control. When situations are unclear or when we’re facing ambiguity, it triggers our brain’s threat detection systems, making us feel unsettled or anxious.
However, there’s an ironic twist to this natural inclination for clarity: the thrill of the unknown. Humans are also explorers, innovators, and problem solvers. These traits are activated by unclarity. We are drawn to mysteries, puzzles, and challenges because they promise the reward of discovery and growth. So, while our first reaction to unclarity may be discomfort, that same discomfort can motivate us to explore, to understand, and to grow.
But why do we pay more attention to what is unclear even after achieving clarity? Because clarity often brings resolution, and with resolution comes the end of that particular cycle of exploration or growth. On the other hand, unclarity sustains a continual process of seeking and questioning. Even when we solve one puzzle, another often takes its place. This continuous seeking can be stressful, but it’s also how we grow and evolve as individuals.
This is the paradox: Clarity and unclarity are two sides of the same coin, each with its own set of challenges and rewards. Clarity provides comfort but can lead to complacency. Unclarity creates discomfort but also fuels growth. Both are necessary for a fulfilling, well-rounded life.
The challenge, then, isn’t to eliminate unclarity but to engage with it in a way that is constructive rather than paralyzing. This often involves a level of acceptance that some questions might not have straightforward answers, and some situations will involve navigating through grey areas. Yet, it is precisely these challenges that enable us to grow mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. So, living with unclarity is not about finding a final state of total clarity, but about developing the resilience and wisdom to navigate life’s inherent uncertainties in a meaningful way.
In the realm of philosophy, this dual need for both clarity and unclarity echoes the dialectic process—where contradictory ideas coexist, inform each other, and even enable progress. To engage constructively with unclarity, one can apply a similar approach—acknowledging both the comforting aspects of clarity and the growth-oriented elements of unclarity without seeking to completely eliminate either one.
The act of accepting unclarity as a natural part of life can also be seen as an exercise in humility. No matter how much we know, there will always be elements that are out of our control, questions that don’t have immediate answers, and complexities that don’t yield to simple explanations. Acknowledging these uncertainties can open us to deeper understanding, greater empathy, and even wisdom. It frees us from the paralyzing quest for perfect certainty and allows us to make meaningful decisions despite incomplete information.
In practice, this might mean being okay with not having all the answers before taking action, or recognizing that it’s alright to change our minds when faced with new information. It could involve embracing ‘not knowing’ as a state that propels inquiry rather than stifles it. It also encourages a dynamic state of learning, where the lines between teacher and student blur, and every experience becomes an opportunity to grow.
In many philosophical frameworks, absolute clarity or certainty is considered an illusion or an ideal that can never be fully attained. We might strive for clarity but should recognize that it will often be provisional and subject to change.
Perhaps we can think of clarity not as an endpoint, but as a spectrum. At one end is complete confusion or lack of understanding, and at the other is perfect clarity. Most of the time, we find ourselves somewhere in between. Clarity, in this sense, becomes not a destination but a process—a movement along that spectrum towards greater understanding.
When we say we “have clarity,” it might simply mean we’ve moved far enough along this spectrum to make a confident decision or to understand a situation to our own satisfaction. This doesn’t mean we’ve solved the puzzle entirely, just that we have enough pieces in place to see the image taking shape. But clarity is often elusive because life is inherently complex, unpredictable, and full of uncertainties. Our plans and perspectives are always subject to change due to new information, experiences, and insights. Thus, even when we achieve a state of clarity, it’s often temporary and subject to change.
The search for clarity often seems like an endless endeavor precisely because life is complex and ever-changing. When we seek clarity, what we’re often looking for is a framework or paradigm that allows us to make sense of our experiences and observations. But each framework has its limitations; no single lens can capture the full depth and complexity of reality.
The existentialist philosophers, for example, posited that life is inherently ambiguous. There is rarely a single, clear-cut answer to complex questions. The more we learn, the more we recognize the limits of our knowledge. This is what Socrates meant when he said, “I know that I know nothing.” His wisdom lay in recognizing his own ignorance.
Similarly, Eastern philosophies like Buddhism speak of “beginner’s mind,” the idea of approaching life with openness, eagerness, and a lack of preconceptions, much like a beginner or a child. This is not the same as saying one should be ignorant, but rather that one should be open to multiple perspectives and willing to revise one’s understanding as more information becomes available.
In modern psychology, this ongoing quest for clarity amidst uncertainty can sometimes be framed as “tolerance for ambiguity,” a psychological trait that defines one’s ability to function well in situations that are uncertain, unclear, or chaotic. People with high tolerance for ambiguity are generally more flexible and find it easier to adapt to new situations, while those with low tolerance may find ambiguity to be stressful and may seek to resolve it as quickly as possible, even if it means settling for a simplistic answer.
So why do we seek clarity? From an evolutionary standpoint, being able to quickly assess and understand our environment could have survival benefits. However, the modern world is much more complex than the environments in which our ancestors lived, and the “clarity” we seek may not always be achievable or may require us to accept some level of uncertainty or paradox.
The pursuit of clarity, then, is both a psychological and philosophical endeavor. It involves developing the cognitive and emotional skills needed to navigate uncertainty and the wisdom to recognize that our understanding of any given situation is likely to be partial and contingent on various factors.
If we can get comfortable with the idea that absolute clarity is an ideal rather than a constant state, we can free ourselves to seek understanding in a more nuanced and open-minded way. We learn to appreciate the journey of intellectual and emotional growth, even if it never leads to a single, unambiguous destination.
The Fluidity of Stillness: Understanding Stagnation Amidst Movement
“Movement in Stagnation” captures the tension between seemingly opposite states—feeling spiritually stuck or stagnant while simultaneously experiencing inner changes or shifts. This suggests that even within periods of seeming inertia, movement is happening, whether you recognize it or not.
The experience of feeling both movement and stagnation simultaneously—or alternately—can be influenced by various factors, including your emotional state, external circumstances, and perspective. On a day-to-day basis, there are changes, interactions, and new experiences, which might seem like movement. However, these might not register on the long-term scale, where overarching goals and life trajectories are considered.
ertain philosophies and spiritual perspectives propose that time is not linear but cyclical. Thus, the repetition or perceived stagnation may actually be a part of natural cycles. However, Emotions are incredibly transient; they can change from moment to moment. This emotional flux might be what you’re identifying as “movement” within the stagnation. Emotional highs feel even higher when coming out of a low and vice versa. This contrast might contribute to the sensation of significant movement even when your situation hasn’t drastically changed.
Humans are wired to identify patterns. When you start noticing recurring themes or experiences, your brain flags these as patterns, which can feel like you’re stuck in a loop. Once you recognize a pattern or feel stuck, you’re more likely to notice information that confirms this belief, thereby reinforcing the feeling of being stuck.
Some spiritual teachings suggest that life inherently consists of repetitive cycles—birth, growth, decay, death, and rebirth—and that recognizing this can free you from the illusion of stagnation. Certain philosophies like Buddhism focus on the present moment as the only “real” moment, suggesting that both the past (stagnation) and the future (movement) are constructs of the mind.
When you look at your life on a daily basis, you can see a lot of activities, interactions, and events that unfold. The sun rises and sets, you go to work, eat, sleep, talk to people, perhaps engage in some hobbies. This flurry of activity can give you the impression that things are constantly moving and changing. However, if you were to zoom out and look at a larger slice of your life, say a year or a decade, the feeling is often quite different. Major life circumstances—your job, where you live, your relationship status—may not change as frequently. Even if they do, the underlying patterns of behavior, the kinds of relationships you engage in, and your day-to-day experiences might not undergo a significant transformation. This is where the feeling of “stagnation” often comes in. Despite the constant activity and interactions, there may be an underlying sense that nothing much has really changed—or is going to change.
Emotions, by their very nature, are transient and fluid. Even within a single day, you might experience a range of emotions—joy, frustration, excitement, boredom, love, irritation—and these emotions have a way of coloring your perception. When you’re joyful, the world seems vibrant, full of possibilities; you feel like you’re “moving.” When you’re frustrated or bored, the world can seem dull, repetitive; hence the feeling of “stagnation.”
The mind has certain tendencies that influence this dual experience of movement and stillness. One of these is the brain’s knack for pattern recognition. We make sense of the world by recognizing patterns; it’s how we learn and navigate complex realities. However, this strength can turn into a trap when the patterns you recognize lead to a sense of helplessness or stagnation. For instance, if you’ve had several failed relationships, you may start to believe that all relationships are doomed to fail, leading to a feeling of being “stuck.”
Finally from a more spiritual or existential standpoint, the very idea of movement and stagnation can be questioned. Certain spiritual teachings suggest that the material world is an illusion, and that true “movement” is a journey inward, toward understanding one’s own nature and the nature of reality. In this context, both the feeling of “moving” and “being stuck” can be seen as distractions from the true journey, which is neither about moving nor staying but about understanding and being.
Understanding the fleeting nature of “Happiness”
Realising you’re happy and consequently puncturing that happiness—is a manifestation of the self-reflexive quality of human consciousness. It reflects our ability not only to experience emotions but also to have thoughts about those experiences, including the experience of happiness. At the most immediate level, we have sensory experiences and emotional reactions. These are our raw, unfiltered engagements with the world around us. But atop this immediate experience, we have a secondary layer of experience: our thoughts about our experiences. This secondary layer is where we interpret, judge, anticipate, and reflect.
The paradox here is that this second layer of experience can intrude upon and alter the first. By realizing we’re happy, we move the experience of happiness from the immediate realm into the realm of reflection and analysis. This can have a distancing effect, making the happiness less vivid and more abstract. The “self” that is experiencing happiness is no longer fully integrated with the experience; part of it has stepped aside to observe.
The awareness of happiness can also bring about a sense of sadness or melancholy. This is because our reflective consciousness is not only evaluative but also temporal; it exists in time. When we realize we’re happy, we also realize that the moment is fleeting, that it will pass. This injects a sense of loss or nostalgia into the current experience, dampening the happiness with a layer of sadness. There’s also the pressure that once identified, the feeling of happiness must be maintained, which turns it into an object of concern.
In some Eastern philosophies, for example, the ultimate state of happiness or enlightenment is one that transcends both happiness and sadness, existing in a state of pure “beingness” that is beyond dualities. Western philosophies often engage deeply with the notion of existential angst, the idea that human freedom and awareness are both a gift and a curse, capable of both elevating and diminishing our experiences. Humans are narrative creatures. We don’t just experience things; we also construct stories around our experiences, which become a part of the experience itself. Realizing you’re happy can sometimes feel like a narrative high point, a climax. But climaxes are, by their nature, transitional; they mark the point where a story begins to move toward its conclusion. This can create a sense of impending descent, which can tinge even the most joyous moments with a shade of melancholy. There’s a compelling argument to be made for the richness added to our lives by our ability to reflect on our experiences. This meta-experience, the experience of experiencing, adds depth and texture to our lives. It’s the thing that allows us to appreciate art, to fall in love, to engage in complex moral reasoning. But it comes at a cost: the cost of immediacy. The more we reflect on our experiences, the less we’re able to engage with them directly. It’s like being the actor and the audience at the same time. This dual nature of consciousness is both a blessing and a curse. While it allows us the richness of introspection and self-awareness, it also sets up a scenario where the observer can interfere with the experience.
When you realize you’re happy, you’re essentially stepping out of the experience to label it. The moment you do that, you bring in the concept of time. Emotions, when lived, are timeless. They’re states of being. But when you observe them, you also acknowledge their temporality—they become moments that have started and will eventually end. This implicit understanding of the fleeting nature of happiness casts a shadow on the experience, thereby altering its composition and introducing elements of sadness or anxiety.
The awareness of happiness can trigger broader questions about the nature of existence, purpose, and meaning. Happiness is often viewed as an ‘end,’ a goal in life. Once achieved, its realization can create a form of existential vacuum, a questioning of ‘what next?’ This moves you out of the emotional experience and into a cognitive one, involving existential questions that can often be more unsettling than comforting.
Your realization also exemplifies the duality inherent in life experiences. There’s a push and pull between opposing forces: happiness and sadness, awareness and ignorance, temporality and timelessness. Some philosophical traditions, particularly those from Eastern philosophies like Buddhism, suggest that the ultimate state of enlightenment is one that transcends this duality to experience a state of ‘oneness.’ In that state, the act of observing happiness and the experience of happiness itself become one unified experience, without a division that could puncture the emotion. When we experience happiness, it often fits into a story we have about what makes us happy and why. This narrative self can be in constant tension with the experiencing self. The act of realizing you’re happy is a narrative act—it fits this moment of joy into your broader life story. But life stories are complex and filled with ups and downs. Fitting a moment into a narrative can mean subjecting it to all the complexities and contradictions of that narrative, which can dilute the purity of the experience.
On the one hand, mindfulness and self-awareness teach us to observe our feelings, thoughts, and experiences. On the other hand, the very act of observing can sometimes alter or even negate the experience, particularly with transient states like happiness. In quantum physics, the observer effect refers to changes that the act of observation makes on the phenomenon being observed. In psychology, too, observing one’s thoughts and feelings can change them. This is the basis of therapies like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), where the act of observing and questioning one’s thoughts can lead to emotional regulation.
When you realize you’re happy and become acutely aware of that happiness, you might also become aware of the fleeting nature of emotions. This could potentially lead to a decrease in the intensity of your happiness, making it a self-limiting state. The joy is punctured by the awareness of its temporary nature or by the anxiety of losing it. It’s crucial to distinguish between mindfulness and hyper-awareness. Mindfulness means accepting each moment as it is, including your happiness, without clinging to it or fearing its loss. Hyper-awareness, on the other hand, involves scrutinizing the experience so closely that you can’t simply be in it. You’re essentially stepping out of the experience to examine it.
Some of the ways to deal with it:
1. The first step in navigating this paradox is to accept the transient nature of all emotional states. Once we make peace with the ebb and flow of life, the realization that our happiness is temporary becomes less threatening.
2. Aim for a detached form of observation. Observe your happiness without clinging to it, just as you would observe your breath during meditation.
3. Shifting the focus from “Being Happy” to “Being”. When your focus is simply on ‘being,’ without labeling the state you are in, you eliminate the self-imposed pressure to sustain any emotional state, be it happiness or otherwise.
4. Often the anxiety of losing happiness arises from either past experiences or future uncertainties. Dwelling in the present can alleviate that concern.
Understanding Confidence: Beyond the Binary of “more” or “less“
It’s a term thrown around often, in self-help books, motivational speeches, and even casual conversations. But what exactly is confidence? Is it an intangible force that some people possess while others lack, or is it an inherent aspect of every individual that remains unaffected by external circumstances? Let’s dive deep into this paradoxical phenomenon.
If one looks closely, the term has been constructed based on societal norms and standards. It is believed that certain behaviors, decisions, or characteristics project a sense of certainty, while others indicate a lack of the same. Over time, these beliefs have formed the structure we identify as confidence. However, considering the vast spectrum of human emotions and the varied circumstances everyone faces, is it valid to classify them under the binary of confidence and its lack?
For instance, a deer running from a predator is often acting out of fear. However, the very act of running, the determination to escape, indicates a level of confidence in its ability to survive. Similarly, when a person is fearful, that fear doesn’t necessarily negate their confidence. The act of acknowledging fear and responding to it can be viewed as an act performed with complete confidence in that particular emotion.
While it’s argued that confidence is unaffected by external situations, one can’t deny the impact of external validation on perceived self-worth. A student praised continuously may seem more confident than one who’s always criticized. But this brings forth another question: Is the confidence of the praised student genuine, or is it a facade built upon external validation? The underlying belief here is that true confidence remains unaffected by external factors. It is an internal compass, guiding one through life’s challenges. The student who seems less confident due to criticism might very well have an inherent belief in their abilities but chooses not to display it openly.
The intricate relationship between fear and confidence is captivating. While at first glance, they might seem opposing, a deeper introspection suggests they coexist harmoniously. As mentioned before, acknowledging fear can be an act of confidence in itself. Embracing one’s vulnerabilities, doubts, and fears can be seen as the highest form of confidence because it stems from self-awareness.
If we view confidence as neither a trait one can gain nor lose but as a constant presence, it reshapes our understanding. In this perspective, every act, regardless of its nature, is executed with full confidence. A person displaying apprehension is confidently apprehensive. A person in doubt is confidently doubtful. Modern society often categorizes confidence in degrees – more or less, high or low. This categorization restricts our understanding. When we say someone is “more confident,” we’re comparing their current state to a previous one or juxtaposing them against someone else. However, by acknowledging that every act is executed with complete alignment to a particular emotion or state of being, the need for comparison dissipates.
Confidence, in its true essence, is not about loud declarations or silent sufferings. It’s about recognizing and accepting the inherent completeness in every emotion, decision, and action. It’s about understanding that every response to a situation, be it with enthusiasm, fear, doubt, or joy, is done with utmost confidence in that response. If confidence is inherent, it would imply that any action performed in a state of fear, joy, or doubt is done with a level of assurance. In a crisis, for example, a hesitant decision to call for help is executed with as much confidence as a swift decision to solve the problem. This inherent nature of confidence, therefore, suggests that the concept is not binary but rather a spectrum, or perhaps beyond a spectrum—a state of consistent existence.
When we look at external circumstances affecting confidence, it becomes apparent that this so-called “influence” is transient. If confidence is genuinely inherent, then external factors may create an illusion of change but cannot alter its core. That said, constant external validation can create a clouded perception of self-worth, often mistaken for genuine self-confidence. The distinction between inherent confidence and externally-induced confidence is crucial for holistic understanding. If confidence is a constant presence, the degrees of “more” or “less” cease to have real meaning. It suggests that everyone, at any point in time, is fully committed to their actions or reactions, be it hesitancy or decisiveness. In such a framework, everyone is performing at their own level of 100% confidence tailored to the specific situation or emotion they are dealing with. Therefore, to say that one is ‘lacking’ in confidence is to misunderstand its inherent nature.
If every act is performed in complete alignment with the emotion or thought process governing it, it removes the need for comparison or valuation, which are tools the ego uses to identify itself. The notion of someone being “more confident” than someone else arises from a place of duality, from distinguishing the self from the ‘other.’ When one’s existence is in complete harmony with the intrinsic nature of confidence, these comparisons become irrelevant.
Abhishek Fanse 