I have recently looked in people's eyes and found something that moved me terribly.
Everyone is looking for meaning and purpose. A few lucky ones have found it, but they, too, suffer from debilitating self-doubt. The world is, as the poet said, "too much with us," and there are too many things stacked against us, as we frantically wade through what is important and what isn't, trying to sort and sift them, so as to make some sense out of it all.
Too many political issues, too many work-related pressures, too much information, too many wars, too much advice, too many people in need, and no time to figure out what is truly the single most important thing one can do under the circumstances -- these are our besetting worries.
No, no, I am not trying to be some sort of advice-giver who knows what the answer is. I, too, am constantly looking to make sense of it all, to weave a pattern that is satisfying and to keep my head above the rising waters. Some days, I feel like I could drown in the sorrows of the world, and on other days, everything's all marvelous and filled with hope.
All one can do is one's work and try to make that work joyful, good for humanity (or at least, not harmful to humanity) and satisfying for ourselves.
I say this to spur myself on, of course! Below the fold, are my derrière-kicking thoughts on the matter (cross--posted on my blog) largely to remind myself of all this. Hope you find it somewhat encouraging.
It seems so obvious, somehow, when one puts it baldly, thus: One has to have a meaning, a purpose in life. If there isn’t one, find one. If we cannot find one, look elsewhere. If we still cannot find one, create it. That’s it.
If the meaning and purpose come from a place of emptiness, then one’s actions are empty at best, and harmful at worst. That’s where we get the Dzhokhars and the Tamerlans. That’s where we get empty men with hungry souls emptying their weapons into innocent and hapless people. Adrift without meaning and purpose, the empty ones fill their emptiness with rage, religion and false notions of honor. Killing is the ultimate worst expression of that emptiness.
If we act with mixed motives, our lives will crumble, and we will create confusion in the lives of those around us. No one will benefit in the end, and all of us will be unhappy. I did all this for them, how come they don’t appreciate what I do? is the question that might haunt those who act with mixed motives. Or: I don’t mind sacrificing my needs for others. Really! Confusion and anger come from these, and ultimately, disappointment and bitterness.
If our motives are clear and obvious, and we are not working only for our own benefit, but for the benefit for all, our lives will be the richer. As a great soul once purportedly said, “What you do to the least of my brothers, you do unto me.” Interconnectedness is everything in the web of our lives. Self-expression and service to others work only if both come from a place of joy and love. Clarity is the result.
If we work with purpose and true motivation, and we are doing it from interest and a willingness to learn, and a willingness to be vulnerable to failure, our lives will be the richer, and so will the lives of those around us.
If we act from moral strength and purpose, and our actions are real and obvious extensions of our intentions, and there is no self-aggrandizement detectable in our actions, our lives will reflect that. And inexplicably, others’ lives will be affected — positively.
Meaning and purpose germinate in such grounds as these.
It is the job of teachers and parents, and of the policy-makers to help create a world with meaning and purpose. If, instead, we create a generation devoid of true self-hood, but made up of selfishness instead, we are committing societal suicide.
Create meaning. Help and hold each other as we cross the treacherous terrain of existence. It’s in the reaching out and the holding that we find the poetry of living, the art in life.
Ultimately, a true artist or poet does art or writes poetry for its own sake, because it’s beautiful and because it makes her or him happy. Artists or poets don’t look for rewards or recognition (although they wouldn’t refuse it if it came their way). They bring others pleasure, but they do it unintentionally. They come from a place of truth.
Make your life a work of art. Make poetry. Make truth. Make love happen. Make the act of living, both for yourself and for others, a beautiful thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~