If you read any of the ancient Taoist texts, one reference you meet time and again is the concept of cycles. For philosophers like Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu, the course of life and the universe can be represented as circles, lines that effortlessly and continuously flow into themselves.
While western society seems enchanted with linear thinking -- straight lines and sharp angles -- the world that we actually live in doesn't conform to such silly notions. Take, for example, the circle of human life.
When we're born and throughout early childhood, life isn't something to understand; it's something to explore. We marvel at inconsequential objects. We're dazzled by shapes, colors, odors and textures. We put things in our mouths that, too often, our parents quickly snatch away. We can become lost in an array of sensations and yet never leave our bedroom or back yard.
As we enter adolescence, we retain much of our trailblazer mentality, but we also begin the process of trying to make sense of the world around us and ourselves. We're told by both our immediate elders and the institutions of society that the person who understands the machinations of life can better predict their outcomes.
As we leave the bosom of our family to strike out on our own, the pioneering spirit and the need to understand become about equal. We still long to experiment with our bodies and minds, but, more and more, we want to understand the mysteries.
Once we've established careers, intimate relationships and social groups, the quest to answer the dogged questions of life become paramount. While some people are able to retain a bit of the spirit of adventure, far too many of us settle into our now established routines. We may become afraid of testing the boundaries because we've entered that period in which we have grasped our own mortality.
It's not uncommon around this time to suffer what is commonly called a "mid-life" crisis. While we try to solve our feelings of insecurity with creature comforts, new relationships, a change in career or sowing a few wild oats, I think the primary feeling that fuels these crises is that we begin to comprehend that all the stuff we thought we knew for certain isn't certain at all.
Many people are never able to get beyond this stage. They become mired in a rut of insecurity and fear. They pray for death and run from it all in the same breath. Their later years are spent in abject loneliness and a self-imposed prison of doubt and suspicion.
Others, fortunately, come full circle. While the body and mind may not be as sharp as before, the sense of innocent discovery returns. Not worried about trying to understand that which we can never know nor trying to define the indefinable, we are once again dazzled by the simple things -- a sunset, morning rain, the sound of children laughing, a favorite tune or song.
While western society seems enchanted with linear thinking -- straight lines and sharp angles -- the world that we actually live in doesn't conform to such silly notions. Take, for example, the circle of human life.
When we're born and throughout early childhood, life isn't something to understand; it's something to explore. We marvel at inconsequential objects. We're dazzled by shapes, colors, odors and textures. We put things in our mouths that, too often, our parents quickly snatch away. We can become lost in an array of sensations and yet never leave our bedroom or back yard.
As we enter adolescence, we retain much of our trailblazer mentality, but we also begin the process of trying to make sense of the world around us and ourselves. We're told by both our immediate elders and the institutions of society that the person who understands the machinations of life can better predict their outcomes.
As we leave the bosom of our family to strike out on our own, the pioneering spirit and the need to understand become about equal. We still long to experiment with our bodies and minds, but, more and more, we want to understand the mysteries.
Once we've established careers, intimate relationships and social groups, the quest to answer the dogged questions of life become paramount. While some people are able to retain a bit of the spirit of adventure, far too many of us settle into our now established routines. We may become afraid of testing the boundaries because we've entered that period in which we have grasped our own mortality.
It's not uncommon around this time to suffer what is commonly called a "mid-life" crisis. While we try to solve our feelings of insecurity with creature comforts, new relationships, a change in career or sowing a few wild oats, I think the primary feeling that fuels these crises is that we begin to comprehend that all the stuff we thought we knew for certain isn't certain at all.
Many people are never able to get beyond this stage. They become mired in a rut of insecurity and fear. They pray for death and run from it all in the same breath. Their later years are spent in abject loneliness and a self-imposed prison of doubt and suspicion.
Others, fortunately, come full circle. While the body and mind may not be as sharp as before, the sense of innocent discovery returns. Not worried about trying to understand that which we can never know nor trying to define the indefinable, we are once again dazzled by the simple things -- a sunset, morning rain, the sound of children laughing, a favorite tune or song.
this reminds me of the Dagara (Africa) practice where a young child is primarily raised by his grandfather. the grandfather therefore has the opportunity to share his learned wisdom with the youngest generation, and it's understood that the two will have a special bond because they are "close" to each other on the circle... one just came from death to life and the other is going from life to death.
ReplyDelete"We're told by both our immediate elders and the institutions of society that the person who understands the machinations of life can better predict their outcomes."
ReplyDeleteActually Taoist practice suggests that by understanding the cyclical nature of things, you can predict outcomes. It's a main point of the hexagrams, and comes from observation of nature.
Iktomi: I like your comment. I have to admit, though, that it reminds me of one of my favorite jokes: The reason grandparents and grand kids get along so well is because they have a common enemy.
ReplyDeleteRT: Great post, sir.