Be the Answer

Imagine if all your innermost questions, suddenly, were answered.

You would experience an unimaginable peace. Boundless joy.

You'd be surprised how subtle it is—this fancy of ours to have questions answered. Often times, we don't even know that we are doing it.

Those who seek riches, look to answer, "Will I be OK?"

Those who seek love, look to answer, "Am I lovable?"

In Greek mythology, there is the legend of Hydra—a hostile, serpentine creature possessing several heads. Legend has it that attempting to kill this beast by cutting off one of the heads, would futilely result in several more growing, making matters worse for the would be hero.

Seeking answers to questions to feel secure is like that. When we answer one question, more arise, requiring further investigation, keeping us ever at a slight distance from true security (i.e., the kind that abides).

This is frustrating. Fortunately, this frustration will lead you to investigate alternative solutions—ones that could satisfy the itch.

What if you could be OK with not knowing the answer? Instead, you can hold the question and take an active interest in it but, simultaneously, let go of the need to have it answered.

Why not be happy now? Do you really need to have something to be happy now?

Why not see the answer in the question, or that the question is the answer.

And, eventually, why not move beyond question and answer altogether, and into a space where the labels drop and merge into one.

Pressure

Pressure and healing go hand-in-hand.

For truly effective healing to occur, pressure is required.

Pressure creates discomfort. Discomfort gets your attention. With your attention newly attuned, you can ask new, important questions and pursue new, important answers.

We should not fear when the heat is on. When the bills are pilling up. When relationships turn south. When we've made a mistake.

Something is trying to get your attention. Likely, some change is wanting to happen, and the pressure you are experiencing is the catalyst.

Unfortunately-though-understandably, we are creatures of comfort and want clear, blue skies all the way. At the same time, you can only enjoy comfort after experiencing discomfort.

Both are necessary. Both are friendly.

Settling Down

Secure work. A spouse. A house. Children. A vibrant social life.

Mainly, we work to acquire these things not because of our genuine interest in them but because they are seen by our hindbrains as a way to cure our fundamental anxiety of not really knowing what is going on here. 

We want to settle down to feel secure. Or, more to the point, we want to feel secure. We want to feel secure because our nervous system detects danger in the face of so many unknowns and unknowables.

If we are engrossed in the material life, yes, definitely, we should pursue external security. Start a career. Get married. Have a family. Live happily ever after.

If we are engrossed in the spiritual life, then we have figured out that anything external, from which we derive a sense of security, is flawed in the sense that it is not sustainable. If the source of our security is external, then it is subject to birth-life-death. What happens when we (inevitably) lose our job? Our spouse? Our children? Or, when any circumstance comes along and threatens those things we derive our security from?

What we — i.e., all of us — really want to achieve is sustainable security. The kind that doesn't ever go away. The kind that can't be challenged. The kind that just is. Eventually, we all will pursue it—but not at the same time.

This kind of security comes from within. It has to be realised. To realise security from within means to know that I am OK and that I will always be provided for.

With this kind of realisation or developed sense of trust, we move away from our personal sense of self and expand outside of the limited confines of the "I," which constantly feels a need to work and do something to feel OK. 

In spirituality, the last thing we want to do is settle down. In fact, you want to live right on the razor's edge, where you constantly face total annihilation and loss. It is in this "tightrope" environment where we learn to develop trust and where we can understand that we are never truly alone.