Clarity is like an elusive lover. When Clarity is present, the world, my thoughts, my experiences feel… well… clear. Life feels better. Music sounds better, colors seem brighter, knowing the meaning of my existence feels like it is just a reach away. But since this lover is hard to hold onto, clarity eventually leaves me for greener pastures. Or perhaps it is I who becomes distracted. Carried away with life, I lose sight of the point. The greater picture is no longer clear and translucent, palpable and understandable. Confusion, distraction, dis-ease creep over like a dark cloud obstructing the reflection of the sea, above.
The point is, writing gives me a chance to collect myself. We call this "centering" in Buddhism. For me, it is the point of meditation. Sure there are deeper, more esoteric points in meditation, such as experiencing the void, the death of ego, Union and the dissolution of the self. But for the shallow practitioner-- the act of centering is like the practice of "returning to the breath". Writing brings me to the breath of the my mind. The thoughts that have been flowing in and out, without much awareness put onto themselves. Like focusing on the breath, writing is the simple reminder to return to the center. In this way, writing, and meditative breathing, feels astonishingly familiar, like a mother's embrace. Grounding, familiar, as if returning home from a long journey away.
I would also like to specify, the words shallow and deep often carry subjective connotations. I admit, I too use these words to convey, compare and make judgments. Above I wrote about the "shallow practitioner" but in no way I am I expressing a deficiency or shortage of meaningfulness. So in order to clarify the words for myself, I would like to invite you to imagine...
Imagine:
A shallow lake, no deeper than whatever depth instills a sense of comfort. Now, for whatever deficiency the lake has in depth it compensates for in distance. This lake is vast, it expands as far as the eye can see. Due to its lack of depth it is easily warmed by the sun, therefore a pleasure to be in, easy to enter, and fun to splash in. And since it is shallow, there is a natural clarity in it. You may even be able to see the lake floor. And since the lake is warm, and not too deep, if you wished, you could swim for miles without tiring for you know you could always stand on the bottom. This feeling of constant security can bring a great sense of confidence and trust to a swimmer. Now, the swimmer may very well swim that mile and find enjoyment in the repetitive, meditative, and nourishing practice of coordinated movement and rhythmic breathing. There is something very natural to such activity. Expansively shallow.
Now, imagine the depths of the sea. Deep down, there is darkness where the sun cannot reach. There is much less clarity for the light cannot illuminate what we wish to perceive. For any lack of perception, we may feel a sense of mystery in the unknown. A certain curiosity stirs within. What happens in the depths-- the unknown reaches of the sea, the earth, our minds. There is fear as well. For it is cold down in the dark, depths of the sea. This is not a place to splash around and float about. For most, this depth is impenetrable, untouchable and unknowable. Furthermore, it is dangerous. Deep sea diving has its practical dangers-- the bends, panic, extreme pressure and drowning. It takes time, effort, deep determination and certain level of "technology" to travel into the depths.
One image is not better or worse than the other. Yes, perhaps you may have a preference, a gravitation towards one more than the other, but that just shows our subjectiveness. Shallowness and depth are merely different measures of natural phenomena. The words express and convey substances, objectively, but it is the human mind that decides the interpretations and therefore the connotations. Those who are comfortable in shallow bathwater differ to those who seek the mysterious, darkness of the ocean depths, merely because we are comparing the subjects. But without comparison, there is much more and much less, all at once.
https://soundcloud.com/alanwatts/philosophy-of-nature
Words are like chameleons. They are shape shifters. Words are like water, they take on the shape of their container, they can penetrate and are permeable. They can be felt, and like water, words can be manipulated: cooled heated and damed, dependent on the speaker's intention. Yet, water has a natural course as well. And so do words-- without the judgment of "good or bad", without subjective misuse, words have carry particular existence. Words, like water, have unique expressions, unique meanings, and with enough force, they have a unique flow. Same with water. Water gives birth to the earth-- by rain, rivers, creeks and streams, water flows and restores. Giving life a chance to express itself and to enjoy its pleasures. Same with words. Yet, water can also carry destructive forces that erode beaches, tear down trees and drown life. Same with words.
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