Mystery
“A
thousand years ago...Spirit was accepted everywhere as the true
source of life. Today, we have to look with new eyes at the mystery
of existence, for as proud children of science and reason, we have
made ourselves orphans of wisdom.”
Deepak
Chopra (The Book of Secrets, p.3)
It was Rene Descartes, in
the 1600's, who, in his quest for absolute truth, said, “I think,
therefore I am.” From that point forward, humanity moved in the
direction of an evidence based world. Prove it, and I'll believe it.
In that movement, the head/brain became the purveyor and arbiter of
all legitimate and ultimate reality. For reasons of simple survival,
we needed to move in that direction; away from the superstition and
blatant ignorance of the dark ages. We can credit scientific
exploration with that progress. However, in the process of developing
our thinking brain, we may have lost touch with, and lost confidence
in, our feeling one.
There is a part of the
human psyche that rests squarely in the mystery. It cannot be
located, it cannot be explained in words, it cannot be reached by
thought. It must be experienced. Interestingly, science has led us to
many realizations about this human component, such as the fact that
the body—all of the body and not just the brain—has intelligence.
Science cannot explain, however, why personalities develop
differently even in identical twins, or why we experience strong
emotions in the presence of natural beauty. Wonder is not the
province of the scientific brain. It belongs to the soul.
In a spirituality group
last night, we tussled with the big question, “Who am I?” We
tried to identify the essence of our identity. Are we the voices that
talk incessantly in our heads; is our essential self found in our
thoughts, in our actions? When one participant spoke, she repeatedly
patted her chest with her open palm. “I am here, observing,” she
said. She did not pat her head, she tapped her heart. That's the seat
of the mystery—one part of our amazingly intelligent body that has
its own “brain.”
What the heart
understands may not, as my grandmother would say, make a lick of
sense to the brain. It's not economical, it's not efficient, it's not
organized. It's extravagant, even wasteful. It wastes energy on such
emotions as love, compassion, concern; on outrageous wonder, awe and
passion. It can be broken by love and by hate. That's psyche—that's
soul. And who among us would want to live without it?
In the Spirit,
Jane
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