4. To Hear Only The Silence

The forest at dusk. The blue-green air envelops me in a bright chill. The scent of foliage, soil, and rain and the taste of life itself. With each breath, I fill myself with more life. The cold air revives and invigorates parts of me that have not felt the touch of life in so long. It reminds me that my body is alive, all of it, the parts and the whole. I find myself in possession of an excess of energy beyond any need. I look up and notice the treetops have turned from green to a muddy orange. What is left of the sunlight cannot reach me — the trees gather up what little remains. With each step along the forest path, there is a muted crunch as the fibres bearing me give way. I am a substantial being — an animal with weight. Are there other animals here with me? If there are, I cannot hear them or see them. When I pause to listen, the silence is so profound that there is nothing of it my mind can grasp. How can any place be so quiet? The only source of noise is me, even when I try to be as still as the trees. I hear the sounds of my breath, of my living body. But the noise is also more than this. It comes from inside me. It is the ceaseless chatter of my mind. I do not just absorb the world around me, I also process, analyze, and evaluate it. I must abandon these compulsions. I must match my mind to this great silence. I must allow myself to be as free and clear as the forest. To see only the greens and browns, to hear only the silence, to be like wind through the leaves, a gust that comes and then goes.

3. One More Piece

I want to put everything together into a single, unified narrative.

I want reasons that make sense of all that has happened and will happen.

I want to understand how each piece relates to the others and to the whole.

I want to know the full story — the story that completely explains and justifies the world.

Despite these desires, I am always discovering new pieces that resist explanation, that refuse to fit into the story. I am continually forced to revise the story or to create an entirely new one. Even then, there are pieces I must leave out to maintain the story’s coherence. Pieces that lack justification or are propped up by flimsy or fraught reasons. Pieces that do not seem to fit anywhere. Pieces that resist the very idea that a unified story is possible.

2. Not To Turn Away

When I see suffering, I want to turn away. It is painful to watch another person suffer. It is doubly painful to watch suffering I feel I cannot do anything to eliminate or prevent. I want to help, but I cannot see what I must do. This is deeply uncomfortable, so perhaps it is no surprise that my inclination is to look away.

But this is a mistake. I cannot allow my own discomfort to distract me. It is by giving suffering my sustained attention that I gain the opportunity to understand it. This is not an easy task. It is not easy the first time, and it is not easy the hundredth time. I need not only to see but also to ask questions. I must investigate what is happening and why it is happening, but also what I am doing and what I could be doing. All of this is difficult, taxing, tiring.

1. The Greatest Victory

The most important thing is not to give up. You have to keep going.

You have to keep observing, absorbing everything that happens, leaving nothing out. You have to keep asking questions and pushing your investigation of yourself and the world further, without end. You have to keep experimenting, attempting what has not been attempted, and going beyond whatever rules or beliefs you have accumulated. You have to keep going beyond everything.