I am sure we have all used binoculars, and understand how two separate images merge into a single clearer image. I am guessing this happens internally to us as well. At least something like that seems to be happening to me.
One image is the guy who writes these blogs, and the other image is the guy who gets up in the morning, walks the dogs, and tries to figure out what to eat each day.
Well, the guy who writes the blogs is silently merging with the guy who walks the dogs and thus learning to walk the talk, putting all these words out in action and just plain living. My guess is that this is a good thing, but all the results aren't in yet.
I have long been fond of Shakespeare's Hamlet soliloquy, although I seldom need to get beyond that opening phrase and the whole idea of:
"To be, or not to be – that is the question:"
Of course I have my own interpretation of those lines, and they may or may not be what Shakespeare had in mind. I like the rest of the soliloquy too, but the Tibetans have a lot more to say about death and the afterlife than Shakespeare, so I tend to skip on down to the lines:
"And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action."
I am a great believe in the idea that all thought ends in the sense it makes, i.e. in action. It seems that initiation into life is deeper than mere words, although I know I am writing more words here. Thought is put out in action, just as a candle flame is snuffed out with a wave of the hand. Thoughts are an invitation to action, and without action, they are empty. Life goes on and there are doors within doors within doors within the mind.
As you know, I am not one to keep much to myself. When I realize something, I like to share it with whoever will listen and might be interested. I know it sounds like some kind of vanity, and perhaps it is. But it comes from years, early years, when I could not get a witness and felt alone. I am reminded of my favorite gospel, that of John, and the phrase "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness." What young person does not know that experience?
However, when I begin to hear my own echo, it is time to let thoughts go, get down to the business of living, and walk the next mile. I don't like even the thought of having to reinvent myself, and a whiff of that is enough to send me deeper into time.
It is a little scary because there is at least a false sense of security in reading one's own words, believing you have something to say, and feeling compelled to say it. Years ago I laughed to myself when I thought:
"It goes without saying,
Or…
You can say it again."
These two are equivalent, and I have always been more of the "You can say it again" camp, but now seem to be entering an "It goes without saying" phase, where perhaps more can be said in silence than in words. Like chapters in a book, we finish one chapter and another begins. I am in no hurry to jump to the conclusion of this story, although I do wonder what that will be like, as did Hamlet and probably most of us.
Recently I find I have next to nothing to say, and so I am saying that here, that I don't have much to say. It is a bit strange not saying a lot, while watching the echo of my previous words fade like a wisp of cloud in the sky. It is so quiet without the sound of my own voice, a little unsettling, but what is settling are those two image into one, a kind of clean being.
I am not saying I won't write. What I am saying is that I can't write about what I can't realize, and right now I don't have much of a grasp or overview of what I am going through. I am sure that when I do, I will want to talk about it. Meanwhile it is kind of refreshing to have very little to say, although I have been very, very busy on other things.
Does this ring a bell with anyone?
[Photo I took some time ago.]