error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) We experience a reality which so far appears unlimited both in its depth and range. It would seem that human happiness consists of exploring and appreciating this vast field of possibility. It contains everything known to us, and everything unknown. All the great hopes, the unrealized dreams, are there. We stand before it as a baby bird just from the nest, testing its wings. Nothing obscures our vision of this reality more than ideas. Ideas can become a substitute, a way of remaining inside the nest while giving a show of knowing what’s outside. They provide an illusion of greatness, expansiveness, and a wilderness for our mind to conquer. They are a virtual reality, constructed by a being who must dwell in actual reality. As a virtual reality, ideas relax the need for effort, and the tension of unpredictability. More than anything else they offer a promise of security and an ability to know — through general principles — the character of whatever experiences we encounter. Ideas turn the Unknown into a speculative known, thereby reducing surprises. They seem to change chaos into order, though it is an order confined within the limits of our own comprehension. Whether reality is as ordered as our ideas we can never know, without a mind to encompass the whole of it. Comprehension is not what bears us thence, but wonder; reality is not a place of informed decisions, but of playing by heart. Love is the prime mover there, and the mind following as an awed spectator. The desire for security keeps us in the nest, our ideas isolating us from the boundless possibility of the Unknown. Mainly we do this to lessen fear, but in fact it worsens it. Since ideas cannot map the reality, the discrepancy between the two forces us constantly to seek more certain structures of thought. If instead we allowed the winds of uncertainty to carry us, we might do better than all of our projected futures. The function of plans in this sense is to give us answers to questions we might face, rather than painting a picture of a desired future. What has been traditionally called awakening is, I believe, little more than discovering that ideas cannot fathom reality. Thinking is highly adept at solving problems of theory, and is immensely useful in those aspects of life, but it can no more act as an interface for reality than logic could be expected to address qualitative problems. Thinking, like reading or writing a book, is basically unrelated to the experiences it describes. Once this is grasped at a level of primary awareness, things are no longer seen in terms of thought, but d thought in terms of things. Thought appears comical by contrast, like a distorted, colorless caricature, held up to the living, vibrant, ever-changing reality. No wonder the experience of seeing this often provokes laughter — somewhat like realizing that life so far has been lived within an empty coffee, bobbing along across the ocean. nothing that ideas can grasp truly relate, expect in specific, superficial aspects. Ideas are more like a kind of math: theories which make sense and seem sane in relation to each other, but that bear only a distant relationship to what they aim to describe. Yet for all of that they have a definite value, and work well enough to improve life, so long as they are not misunderstood as representing what they describe. Awakening, then, is by no means the end, but only a first beginning to exploring life. It is like opening the eyes after waking, and realizing the difference between the world of dreams and waking life. With a clear sight, we can now move out and see what there is to be seen. We have still to address the question of goals and choices, but at least now the matter concerns what is real. What is real seems also to answer what it is our nature longs for. The fuller our experience of it — undimmed by the cloud of ideas and fears — the greater our satisfaction in the moment of perception. Ideas alone have long been known as lifeless; they promise sure rewards, not in the present, but always in a distant future, often a future that is unachievable while still living! Reality, however, offers its riches in “real time”. If it were not so, how could joy be found in the fact of being alive? Merely to anxiously strive for some foothold on an impossible ideal, so that the life after death might be made more enjoyable? To escape ideas is to abandon them as a means of experiencing reality. They run very deep, and have become our instinctive response to phenomena. First and foremost, we must be willing not to know. Not to know the names of colors, of objects, or the shape of possible futures. We must allow death and pain and sorrow to be equally as possible as their opposite; even not to know where one begins and the other ends. Life must simply be what it is, without reduction.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) I’ve often heard Adolf Hitler used as an example of human evil. With quite a bit of merit. And there is often the hypothetical question of would you, given the chance, go back in time to end his life before it started? Recently an idea occurred to me which has caused my finger to pause on that retrospective trigger. Icon of evil though Hitler may be, perhaps the history books have not told us the full story. A little bit of speculative interpretation is what I’d like to offer here. Until the mid-1900’s, humanity was captivated by the beauty of power, and held in awe by the force of destruction. Even today there are still many people fascinated by machines of war. However, it was not until Hitler that we saw the raw, horrific ugliness of power, on a scale and in a setting where none could deny its nature. The terrible crimes Hitler committed have been arraigned on a world stage, and held in contempt by the vast majority of its peoples. This shocking example of power’s misuse may have been what stayed the hands of the super-powers during the Cuban missile crisis. No one wants to be seen again as a destroyer of civilization, or to be added to history’s list of monsters. Since World War II we have condemned the Nazis, yet the Jews have been left to wonder at God’s silence. What if the horror of that spectacle was what humanity needed in order to prevent its future destruction? The death of those six million may have purchased the lives of today’s billions. If this is possible, then the Jewish race made a profound sacrifice for the sake of all of us, and not a meaningless slaughter; and Hitler is perhaps the least characteristic savior we have ever had. It is a classic example of adolescence that until one makes a terrible mistake he will not properly respect the nature of power. I wonder if humanity in the early twentieth century was not on a runaway path to oblivion, its morals far out-paced by its technology. No one really knew what it meant for a ruler to have the capacity to casually butcher people by the millions. No weapons existed previously that could inflict the kind of harm seen in the mere moments of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. What if the Cold War had not been so cold, but fired by dreams of avarice and conquest? Would we have been sufficiently terrified at our potential for evil, to outlast the threat of doom as we did? I think Hitler may have been a lesson in self-knowledge that we desperately needed to survive the coming times: a knowledge which was paid for by the blood of the innocent. Perhaps he made us ill enough at our nature that in the hearts of generals and politicians there was planted a desire for things never to reach such a point again. Should I be thanking the past that a present exists in which to think these thoughts?

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) I have been reading, on blogs and bulletin boards, about killing Mara, committing one’s self to rigorous discipline, changing our lives, etc. — but rarely in reference to the Goal. The glory of the means is so much praised, I often don’t hear about the cherished end. A controlled life, where all evil is exterminated, where Mara is gone, where nothing untoward ever happens again: it sounds like a fight against evil, more than a lust for good. At the end, do people really want such an antiseptic existence? A place of all white, with singing angels and always perfect food; a place without hunger, where I would never again feel the bliss of breaking fast? I fight for the path of love, but seem unable to describe it. It boils down to this: I want life to be as it is. I want the heartache, the pain, the hardship. I want my Tourette’s Syndrome, which makes my body a pain to carry around. I want discomfort, and hunger, and worrying about my bank account. Because all of these things give me access to what living is really about: appreciation, love, a breath-taking admiration at the end of a very long climb. And so, even as I work to combat evil and falsehood — which I am the victim of from time to time — I thank evil for the chance it gives me to champion good. How could I ever show good my willingness to arise in its Cause, if it were not for evil? I am finding, gradually, that I love the lot of it, the whole system. It seems so perfectly constructed: so rich, and dirty, and gritty — and real. It makes even simple things, like sincerity, seem beautiful. At least I have a friend in this regard in Herman Hesse, in his wonderful little book *Siddhartha*: During deep meditation it is possible to dispel time, to see simultaneously all the past, present and future, and then everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman. Therefore, it seems to me that everything that exists is good — death as well as life, sin as well as holiness, wisdom as well as folly. Everything is necessary, everything needs only my agreement, my assent, my loving understanding; then all is well with me and nothing can harm me. I learned through my body and soul that it was necessary for me to sin, that I needed lust, that I had to strive for property and experience nausea and the depths of despair in order to learn not to resist them, in order to learn to love the world, and no longer compare it with some kind of desired imaginary world, some imaginary vision of perfection, but to leave it as it is, to love it and be glad to belong to it.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) Listening to someone talk about “being in the present” the other day, I found myself thinking that this idea is very strange. We are always in the present; there is nowhere else to be. The idea of “being in the present” has no meaning, because living can’t be otherwise. So what do people mean by saying it? It seems to be telling us not to do certain things: Don’t think, feel; don’t imagine, watch; don’t wander, attend. And yet, the mental is as much a part of life as the physical and emotional. Understanding context is often what allows the eyes to see, and the heart to feel. Time is like reading a book. The eyes can only be on one page at a time. Whatever page we’re on is the present. As we read, we turn the pages, creating by that movement a past and future: what we’ve already read, and what we have yet to read. Past and future are always part of the present; the present could not be what it is without them. We read pages in order to read books. A single page has little meaning by itself. Its meaning is a composite of what came before it, and what will follow. As we move through the book, we create a consciousness of the story within ourselves, which is the act of reading. “Being in the present” would be like telling someone to focus on the current page, whereas really attention is due to the story. The ability to connect to a book’s overall meaning through its pages is a capacity of the intellect. The pages together point toward an unseen reality — the story — which the mind allows us to comprehend. Paying attention to life, then, requires a full use of the mind as well as the senses. No part can be rejected, if we hope to appreciate the whole. What if life is a book, and time the turning of its pages? What if existence is God’s auto-biography? Then by looking to the connections between things, perhaps we can read its deeper meaning.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) What if I had never been born? What if I had never known what love felt like? To my Creator, I can only offers thanks from the bottom of my heart. How much sorrow there has been, year after year. But now I know, from that pain, what beauty it is for love to exist. He made my heart into a sensitive organ, until now I can see in the moment of an “I love you”, a deeper reality that leaves me stunned in awe. If only I could give up my soul for everyone to know what I refer to, I would still not be short-changed, because for those moments I did know it. That alone is my real life. I am beyond death now, of a sort, because I live in knowing that love is there to be found. My thanks to the girls and the friends who pushed me over the edge, and taught me that on the other side of madness lies something divine. To every woman I have ever ached for: You brought me face to face with a God I could understand. You were all my teachers. Even if in my heart I have learned of other ways, still you introduced me to love. Now I can summarize my philosophy of life: Whenever you love, you are God — just as a mirror becomes the sun when it gazes at the sky. The seeing and the being are one. You cannot see without love, but when you do, you become what you see in that vision of things. This is reunion, in its dynamic form. If you regard others as a parent sees his best loved child, you will taste of Fatherhood in that moment.

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) In the mystic literature I have encountered a theme which I think of as “spiritual poverty”. It means the human soul cannot possess attributes: it is a mirror, and as a mirror, never shines with its own light. What it can do, according to its purity, is reflect unchanged the light of the Sun. In this way, the human soul can manifest every one of the divine perfections, though it cannot itself acquire them. One cannot *be* virtuous, but rather manifests virtue insofar as he turns toward the Creator. All the divine qualities we manifest are derived from this orientation. And it is not by the turning that this happens, but what we experience after having turned. Seeking to be patient, for example, is nearly impossible, since everyone has their limits. If a person falls in love, however, and a request is made by the beloved, the lover’s patience is automatic. He is capable of feats of patience unimaginable to an ordinary man: he can wait for days, simply to hear a single word. This is true of nearly everything we call a virtue. Attempted alone — without love — it is impossible to acquire. Yet it is easily achieved through the presence or wish of one’s true love. It can even be said that virtue under pressure is a sure sign of love, because only by such love can a man transcend his limits. This virtue revealed by the lover, however, is not experienced by him as such. In the case of patience: although a lover can sit on a train platform for countless hours waiting for his love, yet in the lover’s heart there is only impatience. He is not “waiting”, in the sense of patience, so much as yearning to the point that he cannot tolerate to be anywhere else. He has no patience for anything, and will choose whatever action brings his beloved closer. If that means waiting in one place, he will wait there indefinitely. The same with humility: in the presence of the Beloved’s greatness, one is naturally humbled, yet the actual experience is one of awe and wonder. It is not humility in terms of viewing one’s self as small, but the seen Object as great. Or with service: for the sake of love, even the most abasing task is felt as a gift, both given and received. Or with forgiveness, which in the lover’s heart is actually profound understanding. Or with sacrifice, which he feels as exalting. In every case, the real power of virtue is found in love of the right Object — a complete, self-obliterating love. And while seen by others for the virtue that it is, it may very well be felt oppositely in the lover’s heart. The lover’s entire experience is founded in the Other. At the height of his love, he will not possess even awareness of himself, or of his behavior exhibiting any virtue at all. He will see only the beloved, and reckon himself in comparison a poor madman, for whom life is unlivable without her. Thus I believe the key to virtue is not to acquire it — for nothing cannot be possessed by the soul — but rather a proper orientation of the heart, by discovering one’s true love. Then everything falls into place naturally, automatically. It will be a completely different experience of reality, and likely have little consciousness of its virtue. After all, one does not seek the Beloved for virtue’s sake, but for His own. In this way, though possessed of nothing, the lover manages to manifest every perfection. This makes spirituality, instead of a process of self-development — which seems odd when one considers that annihilation of self is a virtue — a matter of turning the heart toward God and of cleansing it from all impurities, such as ignorance and blindness. There is no “development” of the self, since because the soul cannot have attributes, it cannot be changed. Eternal in its essence, it’s only question is whether it can recognize its Beloved in the works of creation and itself. Life in this scheme is boiled down to a single, ongoing experience of the soul: the perception of God through His attributes, as manifested in the world. If being cannot possess attributes, then nothing is perceptible as an attribute unless it comes from God. If the soul’s perception is blinded, it will not see God in what it perceives, and will not experience love for it; for my understanding is that any experience of love — proven by the qualities of the lover it reveals — indicates a recognition of God. The degree of love matches the degree of recognition. This is what “God” means to me. Although one may not name what is perceived as “God”, what is at issue is the soul’s recognition. One may not even believe in a soul; in which case I simply mean that part of a man which responds to such recognition. For example, the signs of God are what you see in a sunset that profoundly moves you; your soul is that which is profoundly moved; and love is what prompts you to stand and watch for a while. We all experience these things, constantly, from the very first moments of consciousness. At question is the depth and degree of our recognition, and the virtues that our corresponding love reveals. As we progress in clarity of understanding, one sees God more fully and strongly in the things of the world. As this happens, our love for life correspondingly increases, until we start to manifest the signs of love, such as forgiveness and kindness to strangers. I think the concept of spiritual poverty removes the complexity of self-development, and moves the significance of religious truth from the domain of the individual, to God. Religion is all about God, and how to recognize Him, how to turn toward Him. When this accomplished, there is only happiness for the soul, described in the texts as heaven, paradise, or “the next life”. It is a task of love, not change. Change is only necessary in order to gain the necessary clarity to see. Once seen, the Beloved’s beatific vision commands all that the lover does. Whensoever the light of Manifestation of the King of Oneness settleth upon the throne of the heart and soul, His shining becometh visible in every limb and member. At that time the mystery of the famed tradition gleameth out of the darkness: “A servant is drawn unto Me in prayer until I answer him; and when I have answered him, I become the ear wherewith he heareth….” For thus the Master of the house hath appeared within His home, and all the pillars of the dwelling are ashine with His light. And the action and effect of the light are from the Light-Giver; so it is that all move through Him and arise by His will. And this is that spring whereof the near ones drink, as it is said: “A fount whereof the near unto God shall drink….”[1] Footnotes: [1] Bahá’u’lláh, Seven Valleys, p.22

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) Looking at religion as a system of morals and teachings directed toward a goal, I find it has two general forms depending on the desired object. Firstly, and by far the most common, is “religion for the self”; the rarer form is “religion for God”. Every religion I’ve looked at, including my own, has adherents in both camps — even if they agree on doctrine. It has to do with the psychological orientation of the believer, and what he seeks from that doctrine. * Religion for the self Religion for the self is easy to conceive and teach. It doesn’t require the introduction of new concepts, because the self is well-known to everyone. Basically, this religion offers transformation of some kind as a reward for following it: salvation, redemption, self-perfection, freedom from self, etc. It seeks to empower or free the individual, with the idea that the result will be better than what they have. In this scheme there are two basic stages of the individual: flawed and perfect. This division of states creates an essential conflict between who the believer is, and who he seeks to be. It implies a constant measuring, to check whether he has done “enough” to merit the reward. If salvation is instant, still he must guard against losing it. It is a system based on acquisition — an acquired change of some sort — with all the resulting complexes of attachment and fear of failure. This measuring and fear easily lead to self-deprecation and exhaustion, since the goal is either practically unattainable, or the offered salvation is too easily lost. The self is constantly beaten into shape, prodded, and kept on the chosen path. The degree of dissatisfaction produced by such a system is intense. This stems from its negative conception of life, looking at the self always in terms of what it isn’t. Life is viewed as a lack of attainment, or a constant temptation to fall; it is not beautiful. The highest station life can attain is death after having lived it “correctly”. The focus here is on duty and morals, with punishment always much closer than reward. There is little joy, for even when advances are made, they also remind the believer how far he has left to go. God in this system is the ultimate Arbiter, the final Judge. He accepts the worthy into His inner circle, while the rest are excluded. He approves of moral conduct, and condemns heedlessness. He is a God to be frightened of, since one’s eternity rests in His hands based on what he has done with his life. At least when one is alive, there is always a chance of doing better. Death closes the door on future efforts, making it a truly scary thing. If you have not made the grade by the time you die, God will mete out His justice to you. Many people reject this kind of religion because it causes so much anxiety, with only a conditional promise of reward after death. Unless you have tremendous faith, or really believe in your ability to make the grade, why bother? It has a huge upside potential, but is a waste of life if unreal. Full of limits and conditions, its only real incentive lies beyond death. With that said, this approach can still be valuable for some, since it is so easily grasped; and the moral alignment that results can be of great help in the long-term. Our culture has a penchant for this type of method, as can be witnessed in the proliferation of self-help books on the market, most of which offer a secular form of the same kind of self-oriented program of change. * Religion for the Beloved This rarer form of religion is mostly unknown to the mass of people, though it does occur in various forms throughout the world. It’s rarity comes from how difficult it is to describe its aim: reunion with the Beloved. How do you talk about something a person has yet to discover? It can only be discussed using similar experiences for example. (Although one can, by their happiness, indicate that it has a source, and then maybe others will wonder about that Source). This scheme has no “perfect” state. If you stand outside, you will be warmed by the sun. The longer you stay out, the warmer you will get. Receiving the light has nothing to do with “you”, only that you stand in the open. And the more you’re outside, the more light you will receive, which will begin to have other benefits for you. There is no conflict here. You are never at odds with yourself. To visit a museum, you don’t have to be a perfect individual. If you study the principles and history of art, you might appreciate the paintings more than someone who hasn’t, however. Perceiving the beauty of art is entirely up to you: Do you want to look into it? Give it some time? Study it intently? Education will assist you, but the focus is always on the art, not the viewer. Motivation to improve is thus relative to how much a person longs for the Goal. Anyone who has loved something enough will do anything to be near it. Every step that brings them closer bears its own gifts. This kind of religion is a thing of constant, ever-increasing joy. There is no need to fear the Beloved will reject you: He simply waits for those who wish to approach Him, even helping anyone who makes an effort. “Whoso maketh efforts for Us, in Our ways will We guide him.” This process can be started from complete ignorance. You needn’t know about your eye in order to use it. What you do need is to free it from all dust and distraction, open the lid, and look in the right direction. Further understanding will let you see things from other perspectives, though some kinds of knowledge can be found intuitively. God in this system is the Beloved, for Whom the soul has always longed, potentially or actually. The soul is a tender plant, and God, the Sun. The real issue in our case is that heliotropism must be learned and intentionally chosen. Those who reject this kind of religion, reject the Beloved before realizing who He is. Mostly I think people reject the former kind of religion, not knowing that a baby is going out with the bath-water. For the Beloved is the Answer to all questions, the Goal of all hopes. One only needs faith that He exists to be found, and he will assuredly find Him. “He who seeketh out a thing with zeal shall find it.”

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) I have been paying attention recently to people’s “life ethic”, or the central philosophy which organizes their thoughts and activities. In Western society, I find one to be extremely prevalent: “Really living should feel like hard work.” My thinking is that really living should feel absolutely wonderful. Yet I come across the above idea again and again, like a sun around which Western life revolves. Where did this idea come from, and why are people so unwilling to look elsewhere? It seems too obvious to explain it as a Puritan ethic derived from Christianity. It occurs elsewhere in the world as well. I think Puritanism is simply a formalization of the ethic, rather than its birthplace. I think it’s been with us for a very long time. I used to think it might just be the extravert’s credo, since an extravert would naturally prefer an ethic that removes him from self-relative experience: better to feel suffering for another, than joy in one’s self. But then found that introverts are really no different. They merely internalize the feeling of suffering as a noble punishment, rather than a noble service. I am not denying the merits of hard work — and the need to make that disclaimer shows how pervasive the ethic is — but rather the idea that really living should *feel* like hard work; that one is not moving forward until they regularly experience a state of suffering. It is possible for the body to suffer, and the spirit takes joy in this suffering. Athletes experience this, as do mathematicians seeking a proof, as does anyone who really loves what they do. Working is exertion, and exertion causes some part of us to suffer. Yet how we experience that internally varies largely based on our feeling about the activity. If we’d rather not be doing it — say, mowing the lawn a kid — it can feel like agony; but if we love it — a landscaper artist doing the same thing — it feels somehow divine. It is the basic life ethic that seems to determine the tenor of how we experience life. It guides our choices in whatever direction fulfills the demands of the ethic. If we believe life should feel like hard work, we put ourselves into those situations: a difficult job, trying relationships, educational hardship, etc. It can be as if we’re living to make the ethic happy, and not ourselves happy. Which makes me wonder if there should be any ethic at all. What drives us should not be an ideal, but a thing that can actually be experienced. An ideal, after all, is only an abstract never to be found in life, only approximated. Whereas the quality of something we love is known in the moment of our being near it. It’s the difference between having an ethic that says, “Life should be beautiful”, and living for an experience of beauty. In the first case one must always judging whether the expectations of “beautiful” are being met, while the latter is based on a visceral reaction that is quite immediate and obvious. Maybe belief in an ethic is a form of desiring control over the indefinite nature of life. In that sense, I can see it as a normal part of our progression. It would only be in holding to it too dearly for too long, that we would be hindered.

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) There are countless mental frameworks to describe the variety of life. I think they are all false. Even theists change their idea of what faith is from time to time (or should). The point is not to find “the truth”, but to motivate ourselves. Whatever framework encourages a person to learn is the right framework at that moment. Thoughts and ideas are simply too transient and perishable. If we hold to any of them for too long, it retards progress. So what is a life of faith? Have you ever fallen madly in love? Do you remember what the world was like before it happened, and how it was after? If a man, for example, had lived before you and experienced this, he might say, “There is someone now living, who will steal your heart and transform the moments of your days into bliss.” He would say this because he had experienced it: the kind of transporting, ecstatic joy that is only to be found in the arms of a beloved. To live without God — and I mean the reality, not the word — is to live without having known the Beloved: He to whom worldly love is as a shadow cast on the ground. If someone tells you that such a Beloved exists, then to seek Him you must have faith, because the way can be long, painful, and require much sacrifice. Without faith, one might give up on search as futile, or believe ultimately that no such love exists. When I talk about this Being, I mean something that is beyond thoughts or ideas. It has no name, no description. It is not even a “being” in the sense of the word. It can only be known through experience, and even then it cannot be known. We experience it each day in the things of life, but it’s like sunlight reflected from a dull rock — or rather, reflected into dull eyes. The true sun is much brighter. So why have religion? What we seek is profound and subtle. Look at the confusion that remains, no matter the countless books which have been written, and the many faiths on Earth. The answer is too simple. And yet, to be enmired in that complication is part of the journey, part of recognizing the futility of thought, and relegating it to its proper role. Morality is an aid in the search; so are devotion, reverence, fasting, etc. These things can help to clear the mind, focus the heart, purify the soul. The teachings of religion are meant to be a guide, but not a goal. The goal is ineffable. Religion is the science of the Beloved, and calls mankind by words he can comprehend. Without the Beloved, religion would just be another framework. Life can be explained in countless ways. The atheist’s way is just as compelling as the theist’s way. I’ve found that based solely on intellectual reasoning, I can be convinced of almost anything. But the Beloved… He is the element missing from the equation. People are debating religion, when religion has no intrinsic value. They are looking past the Purpose, the Goal. You can talk about love until your face turns blue, but it means nothing. The only real thing to a lover is the one he loves. People read books on how to find love, because they want to be ready, and increase their chances. This is a laudable effort. But alone, it’s like feeding air to a hungry person. The point of a lover’s life is the one he loves. Nothing else is real. Until one tastes of that cup, religion is an easy thing to discard. What does it offer, but restriction? After that taste, one knows intimately what the point of faith is, and the purpose of life is abundantly clear. It’s like the lover attaining to the presence of his heart’s desire, and who suddenly learns the purpose of his anatomy. Just as the lover cannot find his love if he stays at home and never ventures out, we cannot find our Beloved if we stay wrapped up in our many veils, dwelling in the castles of theory and habit. Religion is principally the art of unlearning: of tearing down these veils, and prompting us to venture out and seek Him. Once found, there is no more asking, “Why? What for?” The why and what for would be like asking a child why he plays. The true seeker hunteth naught but the object of his quest, and the lover hath no desire save union with his beloved. Nor shall the seeker reach his goal unless he sacrifice all things. That is, whatever he hath seen, and heard, and understood, all must he set at naught, that he may enter the realm of the spirit, which is the City of God. Labor is needed, if we are to seek Him; ardor is needed, if we are to drink of the honey of reunion with Him; and if we taste of this cup, we shall cast away the world. — Baha’u’llah This knowledge of the Beloved transforms hearts, and thereby society. Religion gives us social laws to direct that ensuing love, and as a result great progress is attained in the time of each religion’s heyday. But then religion goes into decline, because the words lose their sense of the Beloved, and become mere words again. Man reads about love, but cannot find it, so he turns back to the world. This is when God sends another Messenger with a new religion, to rekindle the eternal flame. Through the transformation of hearts, this world can be changed into a garden, filled with diversity and potential — not only for the few but the majority. How can people truly love one another, until they see the Beloved in each person, reflected in every face? Once life itself is the object of all hopes and wishes, it’s only natural to commit one’s time and energy to its betterment — in the same way a lover does for his love.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) I think love is really the mother of all virtue. Take patience, for example. If I really love someone, I am happy to wait. My happiness and joy at doing so means I do not perceive the waiting as patience — though everyone around me might. The idea that virtue is proven by its being “hard” or by “suffering” places the emphasis on me; whereas virtue that proceeds from love, and thus leads to gladness, places all emphasis on the Beloved. If we truly saw our Best-Beloved in all things, would not virtue be the natural expression of our innermost desires? Forgiveness, sacrifice, patience, kindliness, service — these are as breathing to a lover.

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) What is the power of the imagination? As I was watching the movie “Polar Express”, and feeling amazed by it all — the wonderful landscapes revealed to my eye, landscapes of fantasy and dream — I began to feel in my heart that these things must, in some way, be real. I make them real, whenever I allow my spirit to soar in those imagined realms. Watching creative films like these makes me feel as if I’m taking a journey deep into myself. It made me wonder, yet again, what exactly constitutes the Real. If it is whatever has a consistent affect upon us, then ideas are no less real than stone. The main difference is that stone exists in the material world, thought in the human world: the kingdom of the soul. Reflecting back, I find that as a child, I practically lived in that world: seeing gold mines instead of creek beds, communicators instead of watches, spaceships in place of bicycles. There were two complete domains, one superimposed over the other: the world of awe and wonder, and the mundane substrate that was its seed, around which the other grew. As the years passed, I left that first world behind, its colors, its mysteries, its treasures and hopes. They were replaced by the religion of science, and the great law of determinism. No more did ancient beasts take wing when the birds flew, or jungle cougars stalk in the form of my neighborhood cat. What was that world? Did I too quickly allow it to be named unreal? Because, although its treasures were accepted by no banker in the real world, what they did buy brought my heart much happiness and joy — which would seem a far rarer currency these days than gold. I begin to wonder if that land was the fabled Eden, that my knowledge slowly cast me from. In exchange for the commodity of other’s words to approve my maturity, did I give up on the Kingdom of God, which Christ tells us lies “within you”? I do not question the value of the practical world in keeping the body alive, and serving as a ground for our hopes and aspirations. But what of the sky into which those hopes yearn to fly? Perhaps that heaven lies within: where other planets dance, and fairer stars shine with their fey lights. Watching films and reading books, I am recalled to that world. I know that trains cannot fly, but I also know that it can when my imagination gives it wings. What I see with my inward eye is often what touches my heart the most, turning it from a mere pump into an organ of love, and dreams, and a subtle, radiant power. Perhaps we are meant to have two lives, one inner and one outer; to see with two visions, and aim at two sets of goals in life. We stand astride two kingdoms: one of the body, and one of the mind. Both have their effect upon us. Who is to say which is more real? if we judge by the power of each to change us, rather than by simply what submits to measure. What is made in the outer world can be tested by the limits of that world, but it takes a ruler of a much different kind to gauge what is possible in the other. I think human beings have a real inner life, which is the true undiscovered country. As all the storybooks say, it’s belief that takes us there. And while the outer world may be our horse and carriage, the ultimate destination lies within.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) Although religion tells us that none is worthy of admiration, save God, in another way human beings are the life of the world. I offer a brief metaphor to explain this, based on an earlier poem, to give an example of the beauty in our beauty: Consider a torch, how humble it is. It is a mere stick of wood, existing only to be burnt. We even cover it over with black pitch! In respect to beauty, it is nothing. However, the world is over-shadowed with darkness. A lost people is wandering in a Palace of infinite treasures, which they fail to perceive. “Hearts have they, with which they understand not, and eyes have they with which they see not!” This palace is filled with masterworks of such beauty, it would shake the soul to its foundation! But that beauty lies hidden. There is no light to see it by. In such a place, a torch is much more than a stick of wood. Ignited by heat, and kindled to flame, its light can reveal those beauties to the eye. Still, it is not the torch that matters, but the light — and dearly so. Without it, the masterworks of Creation would lie unseen and unappreciated. Indeed, that glory is everywhere, all around us at every moment. We simply lack illumination. We may be humble, pitiful, and poor, but we reveal God’s attributes in this world, much like a mirror reflecting light into the darkness. I praise people for what I see in them. I know that what touches my eyes is God’s beauty; but mortal eyes require an earthly form to see it in. So I honor those places, and keep them close to my heart, because they show me glimpses of the Divine. In like manner, a flower does little more than capture the light of the sun: holding some of it back, reflecting the rest. From this, we see color, and from that, tremendous beauty. Should a flower wilt because it doesn’t shine on its own? Because the light we see comes from the Sun and not itself? As children of the infinite, we exist as the sum of all human possibilities, reflecting in them the attributes of heaven. For it is remarkable that being so cruel, we can show tenderness; that being so tender, we remain cruel; that being nothing in a scheme of galaxies and angels, yet we manifest the Divine. #title Human nature #date 12/05/2004 There are several things that people do simply because they are people. It is not by intention, but done unconsciously, for no other reason than human nature. I have been pondering this while I attend as a security guard at Bahá’í conferences. There are several traits I’ve noticed, but one in particular serves well for an example: Imagine a group of people standing outside of a room where prayers are being said. This is a common situation, where silence is needed, and very difficult to maintain. It tests the patience of anyone whose job it is to keep that silence. When people meet friends after a long time, they will get excited and forget their surroundings, no matter how much they understand that need for quiet. Forgetting where they are, they will talk. A little talking leads to more talking. If other nearby are also talking, the volume of the group gradually rises, until things get quite loud. So it is that even when a conscientious group of people are observing silence outside a prayer meeting, if some of them should happen to meet friends, the whole of them will soon become rather noisy. The group itself is unaware of this happening, so lost are they in meeting their friends. Even if constantly asked for silence, they are almost certain to become loud again. It is easy to see why this frustrates those in charge of keeping silence. The group seems intractable, willfully disobeying the constant requests to stop talking. It can start a cycle of escalating reprimand, with growing resentment from the group, until the people actually take pleasure in frustrating the coordinator’s need for silence. In a Bahá’í gathering, there is fortunately the appeal to Bahá’u’lláh, Who removes the focus from the irate facilitator, and the group is then willing to quiet down despite any upset. But surely there must be better ways of managing these situations, without tempers needing to flare up at all. Thinking on this for a long time, I came to realize that there is no problem here to be solved. It is simply a case of human nature: trying to fight against it is what causes the trouble. So what can one do? As a security person in charge of keeping people silent, I’ve found that people basically have two drives: their nature and their will. Their nature is the default response to any situation — such as talking when friends walk by — and their will is the option to choose differently. Nature and will are typically at odds. Otherwise, we would always respond solely according to our whim. The battle between nature and will is something that requires much energy and patience.[1] The first step in dealing with people is to know that we all face this struggle. No one is free from it. It happens every time we’re faced with a choice: will we follow our inclination, or do what we know is right? Since everyone is engaged in this contest, they should be respected for it. Always know that people are waging this inner war, and that they spend tremendous energy on it. How does this help with managing people? Rather than fighting their nature, you can enlist the support of their will, and they will fight on your behalf. In the case of needing silence, I find that in most cases a person does not need to be told to be quiet — they already know this — but simply made aware that they are making noise. Once they become aware of what their nature is doing, they seek to overcome it. If instead one tries to fight their nature, it only disrespects the individual, and provokes other responses from their nature, such as fighting back. Thus an adult can often be corrected in their behavior simply by looking at them long enough. If they see you seeing them, they will look at themselves and identify the problem. If your eyes show that you respect and encourage their ability to resolve the matter, they will be only too happy to do so. In all cases, avoid conflict between your will and their nature. This runs the danger of sub-ordinating their will, and then there is no help from them at all. They may become truculent, pugilant, even downright nasty. At that point, some kind of force is usually needed, or the intervention of a third party whose words might can summon the person’s will to the fore again. Unfortunately, this whole mechanism is very subtle and hard to see. If a facilitator gets angry at an attendee, he is likely to provoke their worst side, and then feel entirely justified in his anger. He never sees that there is a better way of working with the person who now feels like an enemy. Respecting the battle people fight within means recognizing that at heart, they want to do the right thing. They want what you want — if your request is fair. If one can only tap into this willingness, and empower it, the person is often willing to do whatever is asked as if it were their own desire. I have tried this approach with thousands of people, of all ages, friends and strangers, the kind and the irritable. It works best with children — strange as that may seem — who are naturally eager to please *if you believe in their willingness to do so*. The greatest mistake is to assume that people want to disobey. It may be true that it is *natural* for people to disobey, but wrong to assume they *wish* to. Their will is often quite opposite to their nature. At heart, I think people want to be kind, sharing, and helpful, even if their nature seeks otherwise. If no one believes in the goodness of a person’s will, they can eventually give up on the battle within, and relax entirely into the habits of their nature. Educating people is not only about teaching them what is right, but believing in their willingness to make that choice — no matter how many times their nature betrays them. After all, if our nature were already perfect, we would not need education. In essence, this means treating people as if you expect them to want to help you. If your request is fair, my experience is that this is almost always the case. Even if people’s nature prompts them to rebel, summon again the assistance of their will by believing in it. It is amazing what people will do if you show a little faith in them. The last part to managing people is not to make things hard on their nature. Don’t set them up for failure. For example, choosing a conference venue where it is easy for people to congregate outside a prayer room; because talking is exactly what they’re going to do, no matter how many times you ask them not to. By helping people to help themselves, it can be quite easy to handle very large groups of people, and even have them enjoy you doing so. Footnotes: [1] Where that energy comes from depends on whether one is motivated by love of another, or hatred for the self’s present condition.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) I find that many people have a hard time “being in the present” because they think the experience should take a certain form. After all, one can only be in the present. What part of us has the ability to roam into past or future? If we remember the past, we do so in the present; if we project into the future, it is still a present activity. All activity, thought, and being, is only and ever in the present. Understanding that, there is nothing one needs to “do” in order to live in the now. When we think there is a “right way” to be present, this causes us to continually step back and ask, “Am I doing it correctly?” And though asking that question is also done in the present, it doesn’t feel “right”, and so we take another step back, to see how to correctly ask the question. The result is major anxiety! And that anxiety is something we seek to be distracted from. Funny, isn’t it? If one is naturally distracted, just be distracted. When that is OK, it makes the present a much friendlier place, and there is no reason to escape.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) After much thought, and letters from encouraging friends, I’ve decided to continue with this website. I found it helpful for me to have it running, because it stimulated me to write. Everything on this site is written by me, whatever others may claim. No one else’s work is presented here, without giving them full credit as the author. Also, all material is under copyright, and should not be published elsewhere without obtaining permission. Thank you!

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) This is an opinion of mine which is perhaps not shared by many, but comes from my own view of what philosophy means, and why it’s important. A system of thought which seeks to propound a set view of things is not “philosophy” (the inspecific noun). It is a product of philosophy, or “a philosophy” (the specific, yet indefinite noun). Since these two uses of the word sound very close, there is often confusion. Philosophy is that love of wisdom which propels one to escape ignorance in pursuit of the Truth. It also includes the means by which we verify the products of that search. That is, are we headed down a blind alley? There are certain tools to help answer such questions, but they are not useful if enmired in ambition and emotion. It is an exceedingly difficult path to tread. The fruits of philosophy are related to it in the same way a building is related to architecture. The individual architect is always striving for a perfect design, and each building he creates is a step along that path. But if he wraps himself up in the building itself, and declares to everyone that, “This *is* the ultimate goal of architecture”, we rightly should look at him with eyes askance, to hide our embarrassment. Truth is inclusive enough that we cannot properly discuss it. This lesson came from Plato. So we examine our experiences, and question the validity of what we currently know, and how long we should employ it before moving on. There is always movement toward the more perfect, the more encompassing. To one extent, this unifies with the quest of the mystics, who seek absorption in the absolute. They say that our most divine attainment initially is a perfect understanding of our own ignorance. Once that is achieved, we become the perfect student, while the world around us is a perfect teacher, because in its reality, it truly “is”. Plato called this, “learning to see things-as-they-are.” But how does one become a student, so as to learn from experience? Does this transformation occur randomly, with no prior consideration? Surely if truth were so commonplace as to contain us all, at every moment, no one would seek any answer to these questions. It then stands to reason that our ignorance is deep enough that we are ignorant even of this fact. Hence philosophy, for it is a discipline that invites only those whose love of wisdom exceeds their love of self. In fact, it implies a devastating abandonment of that cursed companion, and an entry into regions both frightening and utterly unpredictable. It is our love that conquers our fear, and emboldens us to charge headlong onto the spear of that most implacable enemy: our illusion that we already possess the Truth. Anyone who stops along the way, to turn around and descant upon the “realities” of things, does so, I believe, for one of two reasons: Either they are impatient of the goal and want it *now*; or else, during the course of their search, they witness the extreme travail of their fellow man, and seek to offer some tidbit of what they’ve found. Unfortunately, these ideas are always only half-formed (compared with the Ultimate we desire). Maybe the author even conveys this, or seeks to temper the zealousness of his compatriots. But humanity at large desperately and impatiently desires this goal, consciously or not, and will grasp hold of its traces with severe determinacy, intent on calling it master. Yet these errors should not be confused with the begetter of such a tragedy. The human spirit/soul/mind/being (whatever) is capable of perceiving realities not evident. This is true even on a basic level, for look at how many people concern themselves over greenish paper with printed numerals! We exist in a world of symbols and portent. This is a decidedly human trait. It also reflects our potential to go further and deeper into this well of experience, therewith to broaden our definition of what “true” means. I would say in this context that any “philosophy” is utterly rubbish in the absolute sense. I assume even the author of such a thing would agree, given ten more years to pursue their art (that is, if their intentions toward Sophia be pure). Otherwise, it’s just snake oil, a false panacea, with which they strive to convince others of their self-superiority. I judge harshly, because what fools we are to consider that the end is found! and the territory finally mapped! There are only six thousand years to our collective, conscious history, and we would plant our stake on the plane of the absolute? Philosophy is, in a sense, “the self-effacing discipline”, in that every discovery made should immediately be followed by a keen lookout for what comes next. Plato termed the philosopher as “one who already has one foot in the grave”, since he contemplates the mysteries of the soul (that part of us related to Truth) while yet possessing a body. It is true that philosophy also includes techniques of discernment, and methods of analysis, which are quite rigorous and exact. They demand self-criticism, and a constant review of motive and method. But alas the method, being something easily graspable, is often mistaken for the whole. There can be no spoken philosophy, just as a love of anything is jejune, if that beloved be not present. Ultimately, we each discover Sophia/Good/God/Truth on our own — definitely guided by the thoughts of others, certainly aided by discussion and debate — but unless one *feels* that reality touching upon his most inward essence, all that he has gained is a craftily worded hope.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) The Sufi path (tariqat) in general seeks renunciation to achieve abundance: sort of like emptying a cup so it may be filled with water. As a form of metaphysics, it is based on the negative. The main task of the seeker is to eliminate, that he may find. This is epitomized in the statement, “There is no God, but God.” Bahá’u’lláh changed the basic metaphysics of mysticism, however. In this Revelation, the above statement has been changed to, “He is God.” This phrase cannot be found in the Qur’an, but occurs frequently in the Bahá’í Writings. Taherzadeh wrote: Referring to the fore-mentioned phrase `There is no God but Him’, Baha’u’llah, in the Tablet of Salman, proclaims in majestic and powerful language that He has removed the letter of negation which had been placed before that of affirmation. This phrase, which the Prophet of Islam, through His all-encompassing wisdom, regarded to be the cornerstone of His Faith, is now, in the Dispensation of Baha’u’llah, symbolically replaced by the affirmative phrase `He is God’, signifying that the Revealer of the Cause of God holds within His hands the reins of authority, and, unlike the Dispensations of the past, no one has the power to wrest it from Him.[1] All mysticism previous to Bahá’u’lláh was based solidly on the letter of negation. This emphasis led naturally toward celibacy, asceticism, vows of silence and poverty, withdrawal from the world, and self- mortification. In this Dispensation, however, mysticism is founded upon the letter of affirmation: the world is upheld in its mode of manifesting the Will of God, and does not exist to be shunned. I don’t think one can overstate how fundamental and radical a shift this is. It could take centuries before its impact is fully realized. I even think it will change basic mystical thinking so much that the concept of asceticism will come to be seen as barbaric, kind of like people spiritually bleeding themselves to cure an illness. What is a mysticism of affirmation? It should be noted that some of Bahá’u’lláh’s texts, revealed before His declaration, speak in the language of negation — such as the Seven Valleys, and many of the Hidden Words (cf. “Blind thine eyes that thou mayest behold My Beauty”). This does not mean that negation is invalid, simply that the emphasis changed after His declaration to one of affirmation. Affirmation confirms the validity of existence. The world is not meant to be taken as a substitute for God, but it is a sign of God. If I were to write a letter to someone, my words would not be me, but they would convey my spirit and intentions. If the person receiving the letter is distracted by the medium, however, its purpose is not fulfilled. In the same way, this world expresses the intentions of its Creator. It is possible to “see Him in everything”, because His qualities are what illumine existence. If we become distracted by that medium, however, its purpose is also unfulfilled. The letter of negation is a guard against seeing value in the world in and of itself. The letter of affirmation indicates its value as the expression of God’s Will. The practice of negation, such as impoverishing one’s self, was meant to ensure that one did not become distracted. But as important as this is, *it should no longer be the emphasis*. The emphasis is now on the purpose of life. For its purpose to be realized, it must be valued in a way that affirms the role of the world. For example, the Sufis wished to absorb themselves in devotion, so they withdrew from the world. They practiced negation to find God. However, since men are intended to be lamps of His light, shining among the people, withdrawal nullifies the purpose of the seeker’s own reality. What use is a lamp hidden under a bush? The real devotion is dedication to God’s ultimate purpose, a part of which is that men become exponents of virtue, and of benefit to society. A mysticism of affirmation, I believe, would uphold wealth for its purpose, while never forgetting that it must not become a distraction. The Bahá’í credo of “excellence in all things” shows how we should be at the forefront of all endeavors, and never sit in the back from fear of fame and fortune. The emphasis now is on life, and no longer on the danger of living. Another important aspect of this shift is the focus on Bahá’u’lláh. Direct connection not being possible, we turn to His Intermediary. The Guardian stated: We liken God to the Sun, which gives us all our life. So the Spirit of God reaches us through the Souls of the Manifestations. We must learn to commune with Their Souls, and this is what the Martyrs seemed to have done, and what brought them such ecstacy of joy that life became nothing. This is the true mysticism, and the secret, inner meaning of life which humanity has at present, drifted so far from.[2] Some mystics, in their negation of all but God, believed in no worldly focus. Even though the Prophets were a focal point for meditation, the true Goal lay “beyond all things”. All was looked past, that the Ultimate might be seen. This can lead to a belief that even the authority of the Prophet is a barrier to the true mystic’s path, meaning it also was cast into the fire of negation. When nothing was left, attainment was felt to be near. In many ways this is true, because a lover’s heart must be free of all things. However, finite beings requires a finite object; one cannot love what is perfectly inaccessible. This is something that makes negative mysticism so terribly difficult: the seeker is given an essentially impossible task. Affirmation — loving God through His manifestations (and Manifestation) — is vastly easier, even if it requires more maturity on the part of the seeker (since the danger of distraction is always present). In sum, if Bahá’u’lláh is our Goal, and His Will equally beloved, and if the natural world and society are the form of that Will, then it follows that nothing can be evil or reprehensible — things simply fulfill their purpose or not. There is no need to cast away wealth, nor any intrinsic merit to poverty. It is simply a matter of each thing fulfilling its role in Divine Creation. Negative: Abandon wealth, that you may discover true wealth in the Infinite. Affirmative: Achieve wealth, that you may realize its aim: the finite expression of His name, the All-Bountiful. Footnotes: [1] Adib Taherzadeh, Revelation of Bahá’u’lláh, volume 2, p. 289 [2] Shoghi Effendi, Unfolding Destiny, pp. 406-7

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error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) After some thought on the scheme of the Four Valleys, the following is an interpretation based on some time spent musing. The Four Valleys seems to describe a few of the paths by which each soul may approach God. Since this approach is the fundamental concern of reality, it makes sense that multiple avenues are possible. This is adumbrated in the following Hidden Word: O Son of Man! Write all that We have revealed unto thee with the ink of light upon the tablet of thy spirit. Should this not be in thy power, then make thine ink of the essence of thy heart. If this thou canst not do, then write with that crimson ink that hath been shed in My path. Sweeter indeed is this to Me than all else, that its light may endure for ever.[1] Here Bahá’u’lláh indicates that His Revelation should be written upon the tablet of the spirit; but if this is not possible to the believer, he may write it upon his heart; and if not this, then he may shed the blood of his material substance. All forms are given as acceptable, it being left to the seeker to choose which path lies within his power. The Four Valleys seems to present a similar idea, laying out four avenues of faith, all of which lead to the purposed goal. * The Valley of the Intended One The First Valley is for those who seek the Intended One (maqsúd). Here God is conceived of as a destination (maqsad), to be reached through the fulfillment of religious duty. Although this scheme places union with God at some indefinite point future — and thus embraces the concept of a long and arduous journey, never to be fully completed in this life — yet through consistent effort, the seeker will surely reach his goal. Although at the beginning, this plane is the realm of conflict, yet it endeth in attainment to the throne of splendor.[2] Further, since the journey is one of gradual attainment, it upholds the concept of a “self” — since only the self can “acquire” virtues: On this plane, the self is not rejected but beloved; it is well-pleasing and not to be shunned. The course of this Way is given in the following verse: “O Abraham of this day, O Friend Abraham of the Spirit! Kill these four birds of prey,” that after death the riddle of life may be unraveled. Which is: conquer the evil qualities in your self, until you come to reflect the Divine; then, after death, you will receive the merit of your deeds. As the seeker moves forward in this plane, he constantly takes the measure of himself, to determine whether he is yet pleasing to God: One must, then, read the book of his own self, rather than some treatise on rhetoric. Wherefore He hath said, “Read thy Book: There needeth none but thyself to make out an account against thee this day.” The warning given in the First Valley is that the seeker not become too attached to these names and titles. When the Beloved is found, cast aside all that has been acquired, and accept him utterly. > The death of self is needed here, not rhetoric: > Be nothing, then, and walk upon the waves. And lastly, one cannot relax in this path, since the seeker’s forward motion comes from his constant devotion: “And be ye not like those who forget God, and whom He hath therefore caused to forget their own selves. These are the wicked doers.” * The Valley of the Praise-worthy One In the second valley, the duty of self-perfection is not the primary motivator, but rather the seeker’s fascination with the ways of God. To penetrate the wisdom of this path requires profound faith, since God’s doings are shrouded in impenetrable mystery. And because the mind cannot embrace Him, this Valley offers hours of confusion for every moment of clarity: On this plane, the traveler meeteth with many a trial and reverse. Now is he lifted up to heaven, now is he cast into the depths. However, as faith in the way of God develops, the seeker comes to appreciate the beauty of how well-ordered is creation. The sign of this station is that of the companions in the cave, whose faith was tested when God sequestered them there. Although they were in the cave, and could not see what transpired outside, they saw the sun rise on the right, and pass on the left. In a similar way, though the seeker does not understand how his prayers are answered, from the time he prays, until its answer, he has Faith that all events are toward his benefit. As Bahá’u’lláh writes elsewhere: Whatsoever occurreth in the world of being is light for His loved ones and fire for the people of sedition and strife. Even if all the losses of the world were to be sustained by one of the friends of God, he would still profit thereby, whereas true loss would be borne by such as are wayward, ignorant and contemptuous.[3] Therefore the task of this Valley is to purify the heart, and plumb for an ever-deeper understanding of things, that divine inspiration may take the place of ignorance: Wherefore, a man should make ready his heart that it be worthy of the descent of heavenly grace, and that the bounteous Cup-Bearer may give him to drink of the wine of bestowal from the merciful vessel. If the First Valley is focused on attaining qualities, this Valley is focused on attaining true vision. Attainment of either will conduce to right behavior. And although the course of the Second Valley is at first a source of frustration and confusion, afterward it leads to a faith well-grounded in knowledge (ma`rifat). * The Valley of the Attracting One The Third Valley is the course of most mystics, since it is the plane of rapture and ecstatic devotion. Here the seeker aims to fall in love with God, until all aspects of his self are burnt away. He neither wishes for a respectable self, nor cares to understand. For him, thirst is what leads to true recognition of the waters of life. These lovers of God throw everything into confusion, and often become a cause of upset to their fellow believers in the beginning: These are a people who deem the lowest place to be one with the throne of glory, and to them beauty’s bower differeth not from the field of a battle fought in the cause of the Beloved. However, they burn with desire to meet their Lord, and brook no delay. They need neither prompting, nor assurance, since their own condition propels them ceaselessly to seek the Beloved. They cannot rest without Him; they tolerate no substitute. Effort in this Valley takes the form of burning devotion and mystic intoxication. His lovers seek Him anywhere, in every face, in every mind. Though at times they seem to lack discrimination, the true seeker on this path knows exactly Whom he seeks. He may enter places high and low, but he accepts naught unless he inhale therein the scent of his Beloved’s musk. * The Valley of the Beloved One In the Fourth Valley, the seeker himself has no more significance. Here, God alone is the way, and the purpose. The seeker lives in God, or he dies in separation, for there is only He. Verily, the wayfarer who journeyeth unto God, unto the Crimson Pillar in the snow-white path, will never reach unto his heavenly goal unless he abandoneth all that men possess… Because there is no self here — existence being only through God — this Valley does not conceive of God as on the other side of a long journey. The seeker is always united with God, since he cannot possess separate existence. To him, “All things are of God, and every melody from Him.” Separation would be as inconceivable as vision without light. Meditate on what the poet hath written: “Wonder not, if my Best-Beloved be closer to me than mine own self; wonder at this, that I, despite such nearness, should still be so far from Him.”… Considering what God hath revealed, that “We are closer to man than his life-vein,” the poet hath, in allusion to this verse, stated that, though the revelation of my Best-Beloved hath so permeated my being that He is closer to me than my life-vein, yet, notwithstanding my certitude of its reality and my recognition of my station, I am still so far removed from Him. By this he meaneth that his heart, which is the seat of the All-Merciful and the throne wherein abideth the splendor of His revelation, is forgetful of its Creator, hath strayed from His path, hath shut out itself from His glory, and is stained with the defilement of earthly desires.[4] In this Valley, whatever He decrees is beloved, and is in fact seen as the essence of life: “He doth what He willeth, ordaineth what He pleaseth.” His will is perfection unalloyed, and likewise His creation: Herein the high heavens are in no conflict with the lowly earth, nor do they seek to excel it, for this is the land of mercy, not the realm of distinction. Even the lover desires something for himself, in the Beloved. Yet in this Valley, all desire is forsaken. Not even motivation is required, since no life is possible but through Him. Thus, the seeker’s only possession is his poverty before Him, and his only capacity, to acknowledge true powerlessness before the Divine decree: Astonishment here is highly prized, and utter poverty essential. Wherefore hath it been said, “Poverty is My pride.” And again: “God hath a people beneath the dome of glory, whom He hideth in the clothing of radiant poverty.” These are they who see with His eyes, hear with His ears, as it is written in the well-known tradition. These followers of the Beloved see in His decree their final goal: See, our hearts come open like shells, when He raineth grace like pearls, And our lives are ready targets, when agony’s arrows He hurls. Whoso hath inhaled the sweet fragrance of the All-Merciful, and recognized the Source of this utterance, will welcome with his own eyes the shafts of the enemy, that he may establish the truth of the laws of God amongst men. * Summary These ways of treading the path of Faith are multiple, according to the differing temperaments of mankind. Another reference to this theme occurs in the Epistle to the Son of the Wolf: At one time We spoke in the language of the lawgiver; at another in that of the truth-seeker and the mystic, and yet Our supreme purpose and highest wish hath always been to disclose the glory and sublimity of this station.[5] In this verse the language used in each of the first three Valleys is mentioned. In another place, Bahá’u’lláh mentions that He uses up to nine different modes of discourse while presenting the Message. Whichever language attracts the soul to God is the right one for him. A primary requisite for teaching is determining what form of the truth a person wishes to hear. Bahá’u’lláh quotes: “Not everything that a man knoweth can be disclosed, nor can everything that he can disclose be regarded as timely, nor can every timely utterance be considered as suited to the capacity of those who hear it.” The real task is piquing the soul’s interest, and using the terms it understands best. This is exactly how Bahá’u’lláh spoke to humanity, which can be seen in the way that Four Valleys itself relies so heavily on Sufi terminology and concepts. It only matters that we find God. Everything else is a means to that end. Footnotes: [1] Bahá’u’lláh, The Hidden Words, Arabic #71 [2] Bahá’u’lláh, The Four Valleys (all of the other quotations without footmarks also come from this text). [3] Bahá’u’lláh, Compilation of Compilations, Vol. I, pp. 153-4 [4] Bahá’u’lláh, Gleanings, p. 185 [5] Bahá’u’lláh, Epistle to the Son of the Wolf, p. 15

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) If “self” is our conscious will — which determines our experience of reality — I count two aspects to exercising this will: how well we pay attention, and what we pay attention to. If self has a condition of fulfillment, it lies in the perfection of these two things, just as the fulfillment of anything is measured by how well we use it, and what we use it for. Take driving, for example. At its best, it takes us from one place to another in speed and comfort. To do this, the driver must learn how to use the car, and spend time and effort practicing its use. In the early stages, because of unfamiliarity, he spends at least as much attention on the car itself, as he does to the road. This division of focus hurts his ability to drive, but is a necessary part of learning. So although the goal of driving relates to the world outside the car, much of his initial attention is fixed inside, on becoming familiar with the car’s workings. It is a curious paradox, but from it comes the end result of effortless driving. The self[1] must go through similar stages. If its function is awareness, it is an awareness *of*. Of what, and how to use it, is the point of education. Initially we might pay as much or more attention to the process of awareness *per se* as we do to what we’re becoming aware of, but when the self functions smoothly, focus moves away from the process to its intent (not in the sense of a specific goal, but rather like art, whose intent is the full experience of creation, and not just the resulting artwork). This well-functioning self experiences life in a much different way than its earlier stages. As with driving, the beginning is fun and exciting, but also anxious and overwhelming: the skilled driver enjoys a peace and depth of satisfaction absent in the student. This is because his consciousness is fully directed outside the car, while he unconsciously operates it. In the same way, when our awareness becomes fully conscious of its Intended One (baqá) and ceases to be conscious of itself (faná), it will really eat up the road… Footnotes: [1] I do not mean “the self that acquires”, but rather: When you look at the world, what do you see? This kind of self exists only in the moment, since it *is* the act of perception. The other kind of “self” is a sort of fiction used to abstract our perception from the process of its operation.

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) As I ponder about God and existence, it becomes harder and harder to separate the two. In fact, I have a harder time dividing them than I do seeing them as one. And while I don’t think the world is identical with God (pantheism), I also don’t think He exists solely as the Unseen Beyond. I find a possible answer to this quandary in the following verse from the Qur’án: “He is the First and the Last, the Seen and the Hidden.”(57:3) Existence, as it appears in any given moment, is the Last, because it culminates all time before it. However, since each moment is of the same essential character as every other (i.e., every moment *is* existence), they are also all the First. They differ with respect to their identity, but not in their role or intrinsic quality. As for the Seen and the Hidden, people offer an easy example. No one can directly perceive another’s soul, because it is Hidden. Science has made no progress in finding the seat of consciousness, or observing the soul directly. But this does not mean that no relationship is possible: through name, face, language, and other means, we can connect to each other through what may be Seen. In this sense, existence is God as the Seen, just as much as what people know of me is me. But since others can never know me as I know myself, whatever we learn from existence cannot help us to comprehend God’s reality as the Hidden. And although the world is never the same, being always the Last, I may always apprehend its meaning through its unchanging aspect as the First.[1] That said, existence is, in effect, God as I can know Him. Since my consciousness is of this world, it’s as though my whole life I have been sitting in a room of infinite dimensions, observing a Person mostly unknown to me — and every moment being an opportunity to get to know Him better. Since His exterior form (the world) is manifold and diverse, it’s very easy to make assumptions. My knowledge is my greatest veil in this case, because it leads me to assume that I understand. Existence can appear to me like an oddly-dressed Stranger, so filled with disturbing qualities that He is more often unwelcome than not. There might be momentary interest in some elements, but even more repulsion in the others. In all, life is taken a bit for granted, much of which I have the instinct to change if I could. But there He sits, all along, patient and undemanding. Every once in a while He does something to grab my attention, but most of the time He leaves me to myself. Although He occupies the whole of my field of vision, my mind wanders. I look directly at Him, but I stop seeing Him. I go to other places in my mind, nicer-looking and of my own invention. But since He is always there, I always have the opportunity to pay closer attention. To ask more questions. To wonder Who He is, and what He might have to say. Children are fascinated by life, until they think they know what it’s all about. Who is this bizarre stranger, Life, Who so rarely makes sense, but is ever full of wonder and new things? At some point, I might discover this Person to be my true love, and give over my heart. But to do this requires seeing beyond what my eyes tell me, because really, He doesn’t seem all that glorious. His Essence may be — and this most believe — but His cloak of existence? Too often the words we hear from Him, spoken in the form of daily events, sound like a confused and meaningless gibberish. Those who take the time may gain an inkling of Who this Stranger really is. We have the whole of our lives to find out. And all it takes is sincere effort; nothing holds us back but our own indifference, the belief that true value lies elsewhere. At every moment, every day of my life, He waits in front of me, ever in plain view. I can’t remember ever having seen anyone else, in fact. When I pass from this life, perhaps the veil will be lifted, and I will come to fully recognize Who it is I’d been with. This theme is often explored in novels and movies, where a powerful king assumes the guise of a poor man, to visit His subjects and find out what’s in their hearts. And there is always the true-hearted maiden who falls in love with that seemingly poor man, for his inner qualities, only to find out later that her betrothed is the king of all the land. What if existence is the face of our Ideal King, shrouded in radiant poverty, in order to test who among us is willing to judge by His inward qualities, and not be distracted by outward appearance? And when death lifts the veil, the Stranger will remove this strange cloak, and reveal Himself to be the very perfection we had always sought from life: the substance of most daring dreams. And as the maiden who gets to marry the king because she accepted him for himself, perhaps true heaven is in suddenly realizing that our love is more beautiful than we could have ever imagined, and we find that we are now bonded to Him by a trust that others will find very, very long in coming, after the fact. … were the glory of this station to be revealed unto men to an extent smaller than a needle’s eye, thou wouldst witness them gathering before the threshold of divine mercy and hastening from all sides to the court of nearness in the realms of divine glory. We have concealed it, however, as mentioned before, that those who believe may be distinguished from them that deny, and that those who turn unto God may be discerned from them that turn aside.[2] Footnotes: [1] cf. Bahá’u’lláh, Gems of Divine Mysteries, pp. 34-5 [2] ibid, p. 76

error: (error “Cannot find any publishing styles to use”) This is one side of a chat with a friend earlier this evening, which connects with ideas from the entry on the beauty of existence: Your nature is not you. It is only the carrier for your awareness. There is no “you”. There is only life, the experience of life. The experiencer is the experience. There is no separate reality which stands outside it all, dipping its hand in here and there. You are as much your experience of the sky when you look at it, as you are your experience of your nature when you become aware of it. You can appreciate it to a fuller or lesser extent, but there is no controlling it. Now, you can take actions which change the particulars of the experience, and there is great value in doing so, but it does not change the underlying nature of experience itself. So, in wanting to control your nature as if to control yourself, you are dividing yourself in two, between the experience and the experiencer. There is only life. Point to anything that is not life. See if you can find even a shred of evidence for its existence. Look for it, you will not find anything other than your experience. Even memory is just the experience of remembering in the present. Here’s what I think happens: we grow up with the message that we should become something. That’s a good message, especially when we are looking for direction in life. We are taught that becoming “good” is the highest form of becoming, and so many of us want that. Without any deeper understanding of life, that is a pretty awesome goal, actually. But what happens is that we become utterly absorbed in that task, because as children, our parents, our society, gave us the task. It sets in, very deep, the sense that we are fulfilling it *for* somebody; as if someday — maybe in the after-life — if we work hard enough to become good, somebody will put a gold star on our forehead and say, “Yes, you have now reached the stage I wished you to achieve.” We are looking to fulfill the original plan of our childhood, which is to become this “good” we wanted to fulfill. And so we pursue it, by many different means. Some of these means are even the task of removing self. But the thing is, the entire scheme is a scheme of the self. There is no part of us which can “be” good, since we are only our experience. This doesn’t mean that pursuing goodness is wrong, just that we took it to heart in the wrong way. And even that was not wrong, it was just… suited to a different mentality. It was what we needed to motivate us. But here we go, seeking to acquire this “goodness” so that we can gain the ultimate approval we’ve always wanted. But when you start on the mystic path, for example, you reach a fundamental contradiction. You cannot hold absolute unity, and the concept of “becoming good”, in the same mind. They contradict each other. Because what is it that can “be” good? Unity means there is nothing but what is. What part are you going to cut away, to put the gold star on? Once you cut it away, you undo the goodness you thought you had achieved. It becomes a fundamental paradox, achieving selflessness in order to “be good”. You have to have the idea of a self, in order for that self to “be good”. Otherwise, there is nothing that can be good. Now, this does not mean that pursuing goodness was wrong. It’s just, it’s not about the self acquiring goodness. The self is not a “thing”: it’s sight itself. If experience is not deepened, it remains very shallow, like a form of blindness. Because of that blindness, the real good of existence cannot be seen. God’s very brilliance hides him, because eyes are unaccustomed to His Light. So the good that you seek is *His* good, not the acquiring of your own good. The deeper you go, the more one’s experience is of Him, and of His good. This is the good you’ve been seeking all along. You become that good by becoming the experience of that good — not by possessing it, or acquiring it. The Law is there to assist you in opening your eyes. There is no existent evil, but there is the evil that blinds men’s souls. The reason for punishment is to help the individual avoid that transgression in future. But it’s all functional toward the experience of God’s manifest being. The whole world you think you see is your blindness, your self. The veil that’s pulled over your awareness. Everything is functional toward the end of union with God. And not union of a “self” with God, but union through experience: baqá. I think heaven exists in the present moment. But that doesn’t mean we get to see all of it. If I were a man in a park, and then I turned into a bird, I could see much more of it without having to go to a new place. If baqá is knowing existence itself to be heaven, death is simply a broadening and deepening of that basic realization. But what is important is experiencing God, moving toward Him. Reaching out into His infinity. To that end, we must leave the self behind, and the quest to “become good”. Christ said: “Why callest thou Me good? There is none good save the Father.” As another example, imagine you knew a girl, and realized she was the perfect woman for you. That would only be the beginning of really getting to know her. It would only grow from there, never reaching an “end”. You see, all I’m saying is that existence is the only thing that exists: and this existence is the manifest will of God. We can either appreciate it, become fully aware, or no. All of the things that happen in this existence are still this existence, are still part of the constant unveiling of His will this existence represents. So, it is entirely compatible with having a family, a job, a “normal life”, etc. It’s not the content that matters, but our awareness of it. There is beauty in everything. It doesn’t need to be in a monastery on a mountaintop. It can be in counting out apples to sell in the market. The details do not matter. They only matter insofar as they help or hinder us in knowing God. All of the content of existence is functional toward the awareness of that existence. Beauty exists so we can know beauty. To say that “normal life” doesn’t fit is like saying that the content of existence has no place in existence. This is exactly one kind of trap that some mystics fall into, because the content of existence is the awareness of existence. But there is only existence. There is only He. So whether you pray, or raise a family, or do your job, you are existing. Some things you do will help your awareness deepen, some things won’t. In those terms, you should choose. But there is no actual better or worse, evil or good. There is no self that can be any of those. There is only God. All that we see, *that* is our self. When we purify the nafs, we are purifying our sight, not some separate reality that needs purification. Just seek Him, and that is all you ever need to do, “with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your mind”, as the Jews say. We worry relative to the gold star, to the task of “becoming good”. We fear we won’t be good enough when the time comes. But here’s the kicker: you will never be good; there is no “you”, there is no “being good”, and there is no “good” as opposed to evil. There are no gold stars handed out. All you will ever have is your experience. And your experience at any moment is the result of your own effort to truly know. Your experience itself is the reward, and the goal. When I