What do you do when you find you've spent the last hour staring out a window? Do you reach for a bottle, or for some other avoidance? Do you reach out to a friend, or to strangers? For the remote? Or the controller? Do you reach for a book? Do you just start walking? Or do you stare some more? What are you looking for out there? Are you looking at all? Are you looking for you out there? Are you looking out or are you looking in? Are you looking out to avoid looking inward? Are you afraid to look for whatever might be staring back? Do you wonder what’s wrong with you? Do you wonder if you've wandered onto the right path by mistake? What do you think when you're wondering about your wandering? About what to do next? Or what to think? What do you feel? Do you know? Do you want to know? Do you run?
Tonight, we asked each other these questions, among others. We ask about the real us inside us. We asked if we've really lost ourselves or if we know exactly where we are, but are merely afraid to follow. We asked if it's possible that we really don’t know who we are, and if maybe the real us scares us to much to keep knowing. So many questions. But only one answer.
In “The Matrix,” we learned about the choice between the red pill and the blue pill. The red pill symbolizes the painful truth of reality and its uncertain ramifications, while the blue pill is the symbol for the blissful ignorance of illusion, distraction, and believing what we want to believe.
Let’s say for a moment that we want to understand ourselves better, that we want to get to the bottom of all our repetitive, self-deceptive, self-destructive, and self-denying behaviors. It takes courage to try and discover who we really are. It takes real determination and stamina. It takes being fed up with what we've grown accustomed to. Do you think that's why there are so many stories about heroes and heroines going on journeys to only return home in the end? They didn't set out to change, but they couldn't have have even started off without changing some to begin with (either by choice or by force of circumstance). And they couldn't have continued the journey without keeping on with the personal changes. And they certainly couldn't have gotten home without making the biggest changes of all. Changes in thinking, changes in how they interpret their perceptions of things and people and ideas, and changes in their feelings about everything else.
In the Matrix saga, the more Neo changes, the bigger his battles get, and so the more he has to grow. And all his growth is inward. His mind and heart create the physical changes represented in that imaginary world. Here are more words of dark wisdom from Morpheus, or was it the Keymaker?
Tonight, we asked each other these questions, among others. We ask about the real us inside us. We asked if we've really lost ourselves or if we know exactly where we are, but are merely afraid to follow. We asked if it's possible that we really don’t know who we are, and if maybe the real us scares us to much to keep knowing. So many questions. But only one answer.
In “The Matrix,” we learned about the choice between the red pill and the blue pill. The red pill symbolizes the painful truth of reality and its uncertain ramifications, while the blue pill is the symbol for the blissful ignorance of illusion, distraction, and believing what we want to believe.
Let’s say for a moment that we want to understand ourselves better, that we want to get to the bottom of all our repetitive, self-deceptive, self-destructive, and self-denying behaviors. It takes courage to try and discover who we really are. It takes real determination and stamina. It takes being fed up with what we've grown accustomed to. Do you think that's why there are so many stories about heroes and heroines going on journeys to only return home in the end? They didn't set out to change, but they couldn't have have even started off without changing some to begin with (either by choice or by force of circumstance). And they couldn't have continued the journey without keeping on with the personal changes. And they certainly couldn't have gotten home without making the biggest changes of all. Changes in thinking, changes in how they interpret their perceptions of things and people and ideas, and changes in their feelings about everything else.
In the Matrix saga, the more Neo changes, the bigger his battles get, and so the more he has to grow. And all his growth is inward. His mind and heart create the physical changes represented in that imaginary world. Here are more words of dark wisdom from Morpheus, or was it the Keymaker?
 “There is a building inside this building. There is a level where no elevator can go and no stair can reach. This level is filled with doors. These doors lead to many places. Hidden places. But one door is special. One door leads to the source. That door will take you home; you’ll know which door.” |
If all of this sounds familiar, yet you haven't seen the Matrix movies in a while, or at all, maybe you recognize these themes from "The Lego Movie!" Or from 100 other movies, or a thousand books. Same story. Over and over.
In literature, and in our dreams, and in our deep discussions with those we care about, doors often symbolize our transition from one course to another, from one room within ourselves to another—or to a passageway. We construct our inner houses out of many compartments, many identities, many versions of us. Is only one of them the real one?
Another existentialist, Prague-born Franz Kafka, wrote a story about a gate. It's called "Before the Law." I sometimes talk about it with my clients because of the important archetypes and symbols it explores. There is a man from the country, uneducated in the sophisticated ways of government, and there is a public servant, a gatekeeper, who prevents our hero from making any progress in his pursuit of his goal. The man tries every trick he can think of, every bribe, for the remainder of his life. He want access to the law, to justice, to answers, to be heard. We don't really know what he wants. Do we know what we want? The story is about obstacles. If you've seen the Zen poster in my office, you know that "The obstacle is the path." Such a powerful truth. If you find it discouraging, remind yourself that all the best lessons come after mistakes. Just as the best version of you is the result of many trials and many errors.
In literature, and in our dreams, and in our deep discussions with those we care about, doors often symbolize our transition from one course to another, from one room within ourselves to another—or to a passageway. We construct our inner houses out of many compartments, many identities, many versions of us. Is only one of them the real one?
Another existentialist, Prague-born Franz Kafka, wrote a story about a gate. It's called "Before the Law." I sometimes talk about it with my clients because of the important archetypes and symbols it explores. There is a man from the country, uneducated in the sophisticated ways of government, and there is a public servant, a gatekeeper, who prevents our hero from making any progress in his pursuit of his goal. The man tries every trick he can think of, every bribe, for the remainder of his life. He want access to the law, to justice, to answers, to be heard. We don't really know what he wants. Do we know what we want? The story is about obstacles. If you've seen the Zen poster in my office, you know that "The obstacle is the path." Such a powerful truth. If you find it discouraging, remind yourself that all the best lessons come after mistakes. Just as the best version of you is the result of many trials and many errors.
THE GUEST HOUSE
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
—Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks
I hope you know that you are not the only one who stares out of windows for hours at a time. How else can we learn anything about ourselves but by shutting up and listening? If you feel compelled to look into the distance that separates us from everything and everyone else, to look into the distance that connects us, that defines us, then look. Look long and hard. You don't have to look at something to look for something. This is how artists create: by creating space. This is how writers write: by listening to their inner voices. This is how we grow: by not stopping the unsettling processes but by sitting with them. Remember, it's not what happens that matters, it's what it's about that matters. We are drawn to those in-between times. Because, deep down, the real us knows that that's where we really live.
RSS Feed