Every instant of every minute is composed of microseconds of what we might regard as meaningless chaos. Life resembles a series of disparate occurrences mysteriously and finely woven over the backdrop of Infinity. Woman and man learn to administrate the currents of appearance to construct a meaning that might soften the depth of the abyss that always lies within.
We grow with the conviction that we need something to become what we wish, to do what we like, or simply to be happy. We hardly tolerate the intensity of the void that insinuates itself in bottomless aloneness. We know without knowing that we are but a drop in the chaos of the Infinite… and we negate it.
Everyone goes through a stage of passionate search outside. In this phase we do not distinguish physical needs from emotional ones, or those of the soul. We want to be “together” with something safe, something greater, or someone with whom we may share it all. In women, the emotional resonance of this is almost obsessive. In men, the needs are slightly different, but equally compelling.
Implacably, we sustain the hope of finding something or some partner, but one needy experience after another ends in dissatisfaction. We try to work it out, make it better, or change the scenery. In relationships we repeat one formula after another, each a variation on the recurrent theme of “the other half”. We end up adjusting ourselves in some form of “arrangement”: a little bit of understanding, some shared sensitivity, and perhaps much physical attention. Or maybe there will be much intellectual challenge, less physical activity, and zero emotional sharing.
One project after another, we begin anew. We accept the ratios that are offered to us by available means and we conform. Weighed down by inadequate descriptions and justifications, we lose touch with the original yearning, the one that included the soul and that, in spite of ourselves, held us ecstatically within its fold without purpose or reason. Chaos is always near, always disquieting, destabilizing and devouring. It destroys the heart to again reconstruct it.
Chaos and the Void appear as one.
To scan or search for whatever may be in the exterior is an extenuating task. To mature means to accept what is there and to abandon the disturbing inner whispering. We accommodate ourselves to much, much less than what we had dreamt of.
Nothing can fill us. Nobody can move the energy, or reinforce and refine it to the degree that we can say, “I am whole!” Nobody lies inside of us or feels that secret and imperious calling at the center of our being.
When our creations, useless constructions, dissolve in waves of incessant reformulation, we find ourselves alone – it is just us and the ardent vortex, which, like a patient lover, always waits. The pursued and the pursuer blend into an exalted unity and life acquires meaning in pre-substantial disorder.
Then… our creativity, like a sacred inner magnet, reflects what we are, will be, and always were. Our relationships, as divine fruits of integrity, emanate fullness. We recognize Chaos as the experience of coincidence of the All within us.
original published 23 September 2013