Go out of your mind and come to your senses

Finding Your Way

For the last few weeks, we’ve looked at existentialism, essentialism, and then took a one week side trip through intention. I’d like to return to the existentialism theme, in order to get a handle on why we live so much of our lives in our heads.

Infants, as they enter the world, are "undifferentiated" – in other words, they consider themselves to be connected both their mother and to the Dynamic Ground (spirit, God, energy, the cosmos, etc.) They, in other words, do not have a self. And they need one, or they are going to be completely autistic.

But gaining a self comes with a price. (Have you noticed that everything comes with a price?) The price is the existential realization – I am an isolated human being, with no ties to anyone. I was born alone and will die alone. The infant begins to realize this as soon as their eyes can focus and they learn that mother goes away. The first feeling, beyond the comfort of the womb and the generalized comfort of being a part of the Dynamic Ground, is abandonment and aloneness.

As adults, we are all too aware of this, although we don’t talk about it. Often, clients will say, "There is this great, empty void in me." They will then go on to describe how they have attempted to fill the void. Ordinarily, the filling process happens by denying the void, by latching on to someone who will "fill the void," or by playing a role.

A client the other day said, "I filled the void in my life with my husband. When he left, I filled it with drinking and drugs. Now, I’d like to stop trying to fill it with stuff." A wise woman, this.

Roles – mother, father, spouse, employee – whatever – are concocted to give ourselves an "important" task to occupy ourselves with. What we’re occupying is our mind. We are so busy up there, we have no time – because if we had time we might actually allow ourselves to sink into our bodies and begin to really feel. Because connected to really feeling is really feeling everything – our passion, our pain and especially the void within.

Scary, so we invent a task. I’m incomplete, so I’ll marry someone, and they’ll take away the incompleteness. Well, that didn’t work, so I’ll have a kid. Or I’ll go off and save the world by getting a job. Nothing like a dragon to slay …

I read an article recently, (and I just realized I can’t remember where I read it,) which suggested that, since we no longer seem to want to explore depth (through counselling) nor spirituality for meaning, we had to substitute something. The article posits being busy as the "new meaning." If I’m busy I must be important, right? The article suggests that the penultimate moment of knowing you’re important is when your pager, your Palm Pilot VII and your cell phone all go off at once. If that many people want me, I must be real.

Of course, relationships based upon filling someone up don’t work, kids grow up and leave and careers seem to lose their luster. And in the end, the void remains.

Perls suggested something radical. He suggested stopping the endless mental chatter and endless busyness of the mind. He suggested that we sink down into our bodies and find ourselves in our senses. Our feelings. And in our identification with the source of our fear, the void.

When I recognize that my existence is exactly one breath, one heartbeat from extinction, I have the opportunity to run in terror, to numb myself, or to determine to live that moment to the fullest. It is the ultimate of conceit to think that we have forever to make things better. At every level, all we have is now.

And now is best lived vitally. The Bodywork section of this E-Zine is a compilation of ideas about living in our bodies. Breath work, which, I’ll talk about next year, is another way to feel the flow of life in and through our selves.

We really do need to recognize the paucity of the game we play – that our heads are where we are and who we are – that our bodies are dumb beasts to get our heads from point a to point b. If we are ever going to have a meaning-ful life, we have to move beyond this kind of, well, thinking. We are incarnate. In–fleshed. (And isn't it ironic that this is the true theme of Christmas -- incarnation.) We are not just our thoughts. We are also our senses and our feelings.

When I reflect upon my life, I recognize how passionate I am for the people I care about, the work I engage in, the writing that flows from me. I am grateful for Dar, for the skill set I have been given, for the people I chance to meet. I find myself looking for newer and deeper ways of entering into my life, into me, feeling what I feel, sensing what I sense, and I even have humour for what I often think. And part of me would love to be here forever, and part of me fears death.

I choose not to deny my fear. I choose not to distract myself with endless busyness, endless rounds of parties, endless attempts to get others to make me feel better. I’m here, I’m alive, I’m in relationship and I am me. The trip I’m on can’t be run by others, nor can I be saved by others. In actuality, there is no "other," there are only my thoughts about others. I’m in this alone.

All I can do is to live my life fully, deeply,
passionately and clearly.
With every breath, with every heartbeat.

And that, I feel – that is more than enough.