The human and divine. Once in a while, the idea of my human and divine nature rears its head. I know for sure that I am a human being, with all the attributes it implies. I had human parents who passed on their genetic attributes to me. Still, I have accepted that my essence is part and parcel of a fundamental energy that is, for the lack of a better description, divine. However, the schooling I received as a catholic youth regarding the attributes of such a divine essence, and later learning about Zen Buddhism, interfere with my adult understanding. Catholic training attributed a type of perfect, sinless nature to my divine self, a nature granted only through the grace of salvation. From my Buddhist training, this pure, essential nature was innate in me from birth. Unfortunately, many of my thoughts and actions appear to contradict that pure, sinless nature. The lack of trust in what I am creates this conflict. Am I both human and divine? Why do I have such a hard time reconciling these two thoughts?
The meaningless purpose of life. Daily evidence has convinced me I am both meaningful and meaningless. I feel special in God’s eye, but I also equate myself to a grain of sand in a universe of sand. My ego biases my thoughts toward the special, and I am surprised when the meaningless perspective sneaks up. This morning I wrote a blog post titled, “I Am Here” and felt inspired and special. Later, as I drove to the store listening to the KPBS radio channel, I heard an interview with Sonya Renee Taylor, author and poet, currently living in New Zealand. The interview basically hit me like a brick to the head. Ms Taylor summarized all the ideas I had written about in the blog but did so in a more polished, deliberate, attention-grabbing, and better way. Her unique wisdom struck me like a thunderbolt. My self-centered importance gave way, and I felt like a grain of sand-tiny and unimportant.
The limits of being human. The slight pressure behind my left eyeball, while not a full-blown headache, is uncomfortable. I experience it when my blood pressure is high; when I am drowning in financial difficulties; and when I ponder whether I should do something more meaningful than sitting and watching the world go by. It reflects anxiety about being productive; about being active and not passive; about giving back to society versus taking up space in a world already full of people. This drama plays out mainly during moments of anxiety and uncertainty. Because I feel the pressure mainly on the left side of my head, I assume it involves parts of my brain involved in language and conceptual thinking. It is my monkey mind messing with me.
The lack of trust. One constant in moments of monkey mind madness, when I feel impatient with others, life, and God, is my desire for immediate gratification. That desire overcomes my thoughtful self. I cannot wait for either human or divine responses. And those unanswered questions make me lose trust. Trust in myself and trust in something greater than me. At that point, the pressure behind my left eyeball increases and I feel a tension develop. Sometimes I feel the discomfort in the pit of my stomach, just below the rib cage. Sometimes it’s just a feeling of impatience. When the unresolved issue lingers, there is a restless anxiety that settles over me. It’s interesting, though not unexpected, that mental concerns should so affect my physical body. It’s only recently that I’ve understood their identities are the same.
The desire to do. One recurring thought I have is the desire to do constructive, meaningful things. I recall reading that any act done with full attentiveness and in a loving way is the most meaningful act possible. I feel the urge to help others. But also feel constrained by circumstances, the pandemic, those around me, and not wanting to endanger people who still have not received the vaccine.