(For lost souls . . .)

Trapped in a trickster funhouse,
I shrink at freakish reflections that seem only to mock,
Sometimes distorted, sometimes distraught,
They mirror the facades in which I’m caught.

Caught in the grip of despair,
I punch the empty specters much like one insane,
Sometimes in relief, sometimes in pain
I shatter glass, but it’s always in vain.

Broken now and bloodied
I sit in silence, cowed by images I abhor,
Now aghast, now something more,
Perhaps a face I could adore.

AJD 3/30/2015

Anybody who writes is engaged with language. So I have an excuse for taking my readers down the linguistic rabbit hole with me. Today, I am enthralled with the word “innocent.” Let me explain.

It all started with a dog. During my daily stroll, a friendly mutt jumped my leg, his tail wagging, snout nuzzling, and eyes begging to be petted. The owner laughed, and I smiled as I bent over to return his warm greeting. Continuing my walk, I found a new lightness in my step. Then I remembered the owner’s response. She too enjoyed the moment. What was it about that dog that lifted both of our spirits? My own dog did as much for me. Even when she lay dying in my daughter’s arms, I remember her reaction when I entered the room—she rolled her eyes towards me and wagged her tail. She was happy to see me. Her attitude was spontaneous and not colored by any premonition of her eminent death (as far as any human can tell). In fact, her response was not different from my preschool daughter who, bursting with joy, used to run into my arms upon my return home from work. Both, most would say, were innocent because they lived solely in the moment. The difference, of course, is that my daughter, like the rest of us, would eventually learn to live beyond the moment. The future’s possibilities would capture her imagination not only with its promise of happiness, but also with its risks of harm and the certainty of death. These are the mixed possibilities that all adults face. So does that mean we are all doomed to lose our innocence? Perhaps not. . .

You might write this next paragraph for me with the obvious statement, “live in the moment.” But I think there is more to be said about innocence. It really is not age dependent and may not require us to forego our efforts to plan a future or even to deal with our mortality. The etymology of the word “innocent” suggest much more. The Latin root, in “not” and nocens, “wicked,” means “not wicked.” And nocens is further derived from the verb “to harm.” It is also the root for our word “noxious;” and its genealogy can be further traced back to the Greek nekros, which is, literally, a “dead body.” Our forebears knew what was innocent—both extrinsically and intrinsically. It is not only the naiveté of childhood. An “innocent” life presents itself to the world as one lived without harming others. And that life is truly alive in its very essence, for it cannot be wicked or obnoxious, analogously like the body of the living dead. The latter image is prefigured in the Greek root and elicits a rather bleak existence for the not innocent.

What we term innocent then is more than mere childlike. It is not just the ignorance of mortality or of the trials and tribulations that lie ahead. That ignorance is similar to what we see in other species, especially those that become our pets. We can identify it as a form of innocence. For example, not so long ago, I saw a rooster dead in the road. What was memorable about this incident was the coterie of barn animals surrounding the small corpse. They seemed baffled, like they were waiting for the rooster to rise and parade his cockiness. Eventually, they went about their normal activities. They may have missed the rooster, but seemed not to understand his death. Not anticipating or having to deal with the finality of death is a blessing our toddlers share with all animals. The novelty of life appears to them as an endless adventure. When we adults observe their playfulness and spontaneity, we are inspired to embrace life as the blessing that it is and to live every moment fully. However, that childish innocence cannot be regained simply by ignoring our responsibility to an unfolding future. On the contrary, we must prepare ourselves to accept or change what is to come without harming others and with our personal integrity intact. A life that benefits rather than harms others can face physical death with equanimity; for it averts a more noxious death of the human spirit. That life has meaning and is the only path to the innocence we seek—not as a birthright given, but a virtue attained.

Normally, I would end this blog with the last sentence. But there is a postscript my conscience demands be shared. Sometime ago I wrote about an innocence that is culpable (ref. “A Culpable Innocence”). Of course, that “innocence” was not what I described here, but instead a false innocence born of a willful naiveté or refusal to acknowledge the harm our actions might do to others. Many times in the recent decades, Americans have given silent consent to military interventions without consideration of the human consequences. Not only are we responsible for the suffering of those who fall victim to our weapons but also of those we commission to weld those weapons. We charge our soldiers to harm or even kill others. During World War II, they fought to preserve life and liberty for America and its allies. The soldiers who returned from that war intact seemed to meld back into society and to build constructive lives for themselves and their communities. Our subsequent wars, however, have not been so kind to our returning soldiers. The Vietnam War saw more live fire engagements with enemy combatants than any previous war. Our soldiers, however, were not seasoned veterans, but mostly draftees who fought to survive, not to defend the homeland which was never threatened. Many did not return whole in spirit and did not feel welcome as heroes, but as unwitting reminders of an unwanted war. More recently, many of our returning soldiers from Afghanistan and Iraq suffer with the memories of their wartime experiences. The Iraq war has long been recognized as a war of choice, not of necessity. Though Afghanistan was initially invaded to defend our country against Al Qaeda, it has since become an American protectorate against a Taliban insurgency. Neither of these wars has eliminated the terrorist threat that has since metastasized around the world. But they have taken their toll of American soldiers. Too many of them cannot cope with their return to civilian status and find their only escape in suicide. My personal belief is that we are asking too much of these young men and women. It is not only their lives that are put in jeopardy, but their innocence. Fighting to survive, whether for yourself or your comrades, may justify a sense that you did what you had to do, that you did your duty. But the actual wartime experience may have no broader meaning. As such, it can weigh on the conscience as an unremitting emptiness, a dark night of the soul. War is an evil undertaking in any circumstance, but absent an overarching justification it can be a culpable delusion for its supporters and a recurring nightmare for its participants. It can jeopardize the attainment of that most prized virtue, innocence.

As the human population continues to propagate, our world grows smaller. The Disney theme ride does in fact have a point. Whatever distances exists between different locations on the globe, the travel, communication, commerce, and inter-civic relations are now more closely connected than at any time in human history. The old adage that a butterfly can flap its wings in China and cause a hurricane in the Caribbean has never been more applicable than in our time. I believe this historical drama of a growing interconnection has unique significance for the future of our species.

Relationships developed through travel, international diplomacy, cooperative transnational crisis assistance, and mass media gradually break down stereotypes and lay the ground work for tolerance, mutual respect, and co-existence. Trade, for example, greatly enhances co-dependence. Commodities sourced in one country are often packaged or manufactured into products in other countries and sold through retail outlets around the world. The supply chain forces an interdependence that can only be broken at the expense of each link. Moreover, the demand side of the equation is also part of this interdependence. The capability of underdeveloped countries and of the poor in developed countries to purchase from this global supply chain is intrinsic to future global economic growth. But these issues have been discussed elsewhere and more effectively than here. What more specifically interests me is the mindset required by this paradigm shift in global interdependence.

At some point, perhaps in a distant utopia, we must come to realize that we humans are more alike than different, that tribal/cultural fragmentations are hindrances to collective responsibilities to each other, that only mutual cooperation can preserve the planetary environment for our posterity, and that the internecine violence engendered by our lust for power, possession, and prurient gratification is an expression of our primate nature and not of our human potential. I believe that many, perhaps most, people already concur with this realization. But our institutions and governments are slow to change. And great masses of the world population have little or no access to the reins of power and its more humane use. Some are merely struggling on the edge of survival or trapped between the violent and extreme positions of opposing powers. Even in America where we are free of the type of violent civil strife that we witness in so many places (Libya, Lebanon, Iraq, Somalia, Afghanistan, Sudan, Yemen, Pakistan, Syria, and so on), are we really free of the violent rhetoric and poisonous opposition of political rivalries fighting for power, influence, and control of the disposition of national wealth. Our political parties are as divisive and violent in rhetoric as opposing factions in other parts of the world are in physical confrontations. (Reference: “Words Have Meaning.”)

Nations may harbor civil wars within; neighboring nations may engage in wars or destructive hegemony that can brutalize civilian populations; governments, like our own, can stagnant into endless political disputes where election to the seats of power is valued over good governance. An American citizen, for instance, may easily justify a feeling of powerlessness before the gridlock debacle too often practiced in Congress. Yet apathy is just as crippling as power mongering and perhaps as culpable. How many Americans vote according to party affiliation, rather than policy initiatives? Identifying with a political brand is like eating the same bowl of corn flakes every morning without thought. Both the Democratic and Republican parties interchange positions while selling the same brand to the electorate: “the Party of family values” versus “the Party of the common people.” The actual discrepancies within this branding are numerous: Democrats pass mandated healthcare under the auspices of private insurance companies, as originally proposed by Republicans; Republicans expand mortgage availability to lower income households (remember subprime mortgages)as originally proposed by Democrats; a Democratic President signs a bill advanced by Republicans and strongly supported by Wall Street to repeal the Glass-Steagall law that would have prevented the recent financial crisis; a Republican President presented to Congress an immigration reform bill that would have included a path to citizenship as advocated by most Democrats. My point is that party politics change with the wind. Nineteen century liberalism is twentieth century conservatism. Twenty first century liberalism is markedly more conservative and its twentieth century counterpart, conservatism, more extreme, even anti-government, than during the preceding decades. To vote the “Party line” is nothing other than mindless “group think.” In fact, it is a form of tribalism that functions to reduce an electorate to an irrelevant mass of followers. There is a cultural minefield here we have yet to transgress before we reach the mindset we need to have to match the paradigm shift that is occurring around us. So how do we confront the challenge before us?

As an individual, I cannot change the world—not even through social media or my blog. But I am accountable for the course of my own life. And so are you. The promise of the future is what we create in our personal lives. The only thing that is inevitable is the past already lived. Each of us can be constructive, thoughtful citizens of the world. You may feel like a single drop of water in a small reservoir, but you can become part of a downpour that overflows that reservoir and spills out into the world. The starting point begins within each one of us, in a singular moment of awareness. Find a quiet place in your home where you can feel your own heartbeat; watch moment-to-moment a sunset’s unfolding hues; look deeply into the eyes of one you love; and experience that awareness which anyone of us can share and which defines our humanity. In that moment, we are truly one. The words “love thy neighbor as oneself” become real. We are in truth not only as distinct as two blossoms on the same tree, but rooted as well to the same life source. Each of us shines with an indefinable beauty and a mysterious presence that disassembles all barriers and exposes each to a collective consciousness, a common awareness. The most amazing part of this awareness is that it reveals what is eternal in our nature, what binds us to the world and to each other. Given this mindset, how would it be possible to view others only as adversaries? How could anyone of us presume our needs greater than the needs of others? How could we live as if life was a zero sum game when universal loss is the only result of such a contest? I believe it is possible for humanity to rise above the fray it creates for itself, once individuals recognize that we are one and that realization becomes the operating mindset of a new generation of men and women.

Still waters:
No arctic blast from the Northeast;
No tropical breeze from the Southwest.

The Bay rests, an inverted Mt. Tamalpais on its surface,
Seemingly as ageless in its image as in its reality,
But for the soft concentric ripples from a lone pelican
Floating there, creating undulating perspectives.

I too am that pelican in still waters.

AJD, 11/17/2014

Blood red on a black canvas: the shock of a blossoming anthurium in a desolate landscape of cold, dark lava.

A couple of years ago I visited friends on the big island of Hawaii. One of the many ecological wonders I witnessed was the vast expanse of old lava flows. What especially caught my eye was the occasional flowering plant that burst forth within this barren wasteland. These hardy plants are called anthuriums or bromeliads. Some years after a lava flow, after the lava has cooled, these plants can germinate their wind scattered seeds and root into the lava rock, somehow mining the nutrients needed to grow and flower into a beautiful, bright blossom. They are the forerunners of many other plants that will take root in the lava beds and eventually of a transformed eco-environment. But the initial process of an anthurium’s genesis takes time.

It also took time for our genesis. In terms of planetary history, the emergence of Homo sapiens occurred in the last tenth of one percent of that history. We humans represent the flowering of self-aware, conscious life, evolving from pristine life forms rooted in the elements of mother earth. But our emergence, like that of the anthurium, is not an end state, but the beginning of a transformed eco-environment. In our case, this new environment is what we create for ourselves and our posterity. Consider how human life has changed in just a few thousand years. The world we inhabit is still one composed of land, sea and air and shared with many varied life forms. But it is also a world of cities, organized agriculture, and civilized societies ordered by laws and cultural prescriptions. The objective world we live in is not just the physical one bequeathed by Mother Nature but the subjective creation of our ancestors and ourselves. And we are only at the beginning of this self-created world.

Some of us think we have arrived at the pinnacle of human existence. We have unleashed the power of the atom, traveled to the moon, begun the exploration of our solar system, mined and harvested earth’s resources to support our accelerated population growth. One might conclude, if allowed such hubris, that we truly are masters of the universe. In truth, we have reached the very heights of tribal warfare (ref. “The Rule of the Primate”), genocide, and the potential desolation of mother earth. Has there ever been a more violent time in human history than the twentieth century? Does not the twenty first century face the gravest prospects for human civilization in terms of global warming, rising seas, and pollution of our most basic resources—air, water, and nutrient-rich soil?

To be clear, I believe in the beauty of the anthurium’s bloom and the future of our kind. Clearly, we humans have come a long way. But we can no longer depend upon our physical evolution to improve our species. We are now—more than at any time in our history—accountable for our future AND the preservation of terra firma. We have the science and the technology to do better. We only lack the will. It took Switzerland decades to remove pollution from its waterways. It required less than a decade for America to reverse the effects of acid rain and for the world to reduce the effects of chlorofluorocarbons on the ozone layer that protects us from ultraviolet rays. Not only can we do better by our physical environment, but we can also improve our lot as global citizens. Whether it’s tribal conflicts in the Middle East or North Africa, epidemics in West Africa, or droughts in America’s farm belt and California’s central valley, we all have a stake in the outcome.

What is needed is a new state of being in every human: not just subjective, but collective; not temporal, but prescient; not possessive, but custodial. To live without compassion for others is to live without reverence for humanity—which is to live without meaning (“vanity of vanities, all is vanity”). We live in a connected world that spans across time and place. What we extract from the earth, how we farm our food, where we dump our waste are activities that not only affect our present, but the future of our posterity. Just as the evolution of our self-awareness has made us cognizant of our limited lifespans and of the necessity to care for our self-preservation, it also makes us aware of our responsibility to care for the planet that bore us. We do not own this earth. We are born its prodigy and should not be prodigal of its bounty.

Much of what happens within the human body is systemically conditioned and unconscious: our lives are grounded in the very elements and processes of nature as medical science has shown. But, by some miracle, we are gifted with a creative awareness: an ability to reflect and learn from our past; the insight to project our future and even to change it; the creative energy to express our innermost experiences and to project what we conceive in language, in the conduct of our lives, and in our art, culture, and civilization. Consciousness is not just a gift of our creation; it is by its nature a godlike quality. It can transcend time and place and create what never before existed. Perhaps the very experience of living in this awareness is not so different than living in the presence of God. If so, how undeserving is it to waste such a gift and not to put it in service to our shared humanity and to the preservation of the earth that engendered us?

Within the cold, bleak vacuum of the universe, we are that blossom in the wilderness.

A four year old boy cries out in the middle of the night. His parents rush to his room and ask what is wrong with him. He says, “I don’t want to die.”

What happened to that little boy is a common experience for anyone of us once we discover what it means to live a human life. Confronted by death we become aware of our existence and of its tenuousness. You cannot experience light without darkness. It is the absence of light that makes it real. For that four year old, however, the stark imprint of an ultimate darkness made his parents’ words of comfort—“you have a long life ahead of you”—not believable. He had just looked into the abyss and already knew that it could devour him at any moment. Moreover, the novelty of exploring his universe could also be taken away, crushing the curiosity that he had so come to relish. Though death had stalked his waking dream with fear and the dread of loss, it was also a harbinger of the life he might choose for himself. That life was not yet present to him where he was—there, crouched under the covers of his bed.

Eight years later, that same boy was engulfed in music, sports, literature, math and science. His “I” was fully engaged with his life until one day when he experienced something unexpected. He had just run the fastest mile of his young life, a full 20 seconds faster than his best time. From the outset of that run, he had hit his stride and never relinquished it as he flew around the track, clocking the same time for each quarter mile. Those who saw him claimed he floated above the track, his feet barely touching the ground. What made that run memorable for him, however, was not his record time, but the experience of running so effortlessly—and something else he would never forget. During the entire mile, “he” was not running. He was the “running.” He had become the cadence of his stride, the impetus of the earth beneath each footfall, the wind in his hair, the coordinated torque of muscle and limb, and, above all, a being possessed by a mysterious force. It was his decision to run that day, but it was this unnamable energy that engulfed his body. Others told him that he was “in the zone.” From his perspective, he could only say that he had never been more present and yet so not “there.”

Twenty years later, that young miler had grown into a man and held his first born in his arms. As he looked into the eyes of his little girl, he knew he was not yet seen. She stared at him without recognition. He was only part of a world yet to be defined. But he could see she found him the most interesting object in her field of vision. What intrigued him though was the fact that he was not there at all, not only in her recognition of him as father, but in his person. He was lost in a relationship to this little being who confronted him with questioning eyes and the burgeoning promise of a life apart from his. She was already another awareness confronting him and an impenetrable mystery. She could not be owned, manipulated or used. She would always be the subject of her own life with the power to pull him out of his ego and into the embrace of an unconditional love. And in that love, he would never be more present and yet so not “there.”

There are moments in one’s life that mark us indelibly. Those that are most meaningful suggest that the art of living is not about what we encounter but the relationships we form as a result. The ultimate experience of living is lost to those who fail to form these relationships. At the heart of every relationship is life outside of the ego wherein all that we possess or control withers and death remains the sole master of our fate. When we truly connect with the people and things in our individual lives, we enter into a reciprocal relationship and become truly present in the moment. Contemplate a tree in its “thereness” and receive the experience of existing alongside that tree. Be fully committed to running a marathon or tending a garden and receive the experience of living in harmony with the energy in your body and the planet that nurtures you. See in another’s eyes a reflection of a shared awareness and receive the experience of a spiritual awakening that only two humans can have. In that moment of connection, you have become more than a self-serving ego: “you” are not there because you are there.

The fate I create is created outside of my ego and defies the sting of death.

There is an old myth that in our mother’s womb we know the universe but forget it at birth. I recently became reacquainted with this motif while rereading Martin Buber. It made me think about our wayward path in personal development. Do we lose something of our prenatal innocence—that undifferentiated awareness of and dependency on an all-encompassing nurturer? At birth we enter into an alphabet soup world of limitless diversity where we struggle to put together the pieces that define and delineate the boundaries of our existence. In the process of explaining this complexity, we not only map the world into our consciousness, but also create ourselves, that is, the person perceiving this world and living in it. But what happens to that prenatal awareness in the process?

It does not seem likely that any of us would want to return to a primal state. But we do recognize a naive innocence there at the beginning: we see it in babies as they reach for their mother’s breast. Our search for physical security begins there. That initial “reach” is only the first of lifelong efforts to gain control of our future and eventually to define our history. But these efforts can never be fully realized. For our powers are limited, and nature has its own course outside of our control. We are too soon separated from our mothers’ bosom. However tempted we might be to envy that infantile innocence, its comfort quickly vanishes when confronted with our personal mortality. But what about that primal awareness: can it and should it be somehow regained?

At birth we enter a physical world and begin the process of discovering our place in it as a person. I believe we carry with us from our prenatal existence a longing that not only propels us into our time and space but motivates us to transcend them. That longing can only be innate in our primal state, but it gradually manifests itself in the course of our lives as we ponder the meaning of our existence, seek a lasting legacy, or wonder about life after death. We never stop reaching; else we succumb to a meaningless life and equally vacuous death. What in our lives can overcome the inevitable tremor mortis and promise something beyond the moveable here and evanescent now?

Science can tell us nothing about life after death. It does, however, remind us that the basic elements of the universe make up our physical body, that we freely exchange molecules with our environment, that we absorb air and nutrients from earth’s abundance to fuel our life processes, that our intellectual life is born of and fostered by the delineation of objects we encounter in nature, and that we exist and are nurtured by the most improbable galactic circumstances that locate our planet in exactly the right place and time within the duration of our solar system. Science clearly shows our dependence on nature—its physical laws and its processes. And, further, the wisest amongst us have told us through all of human history that we walk the face of this planet as individual manifestations of a transcendent reality. Our religious myths speak of rebirth, resurrection, and salvation. Is it possible that we can either have immortality and/or experience its promise in the course of a normal lifespan? But if the universe has so conspired to bring us into existence and support our life processes, how is it that we are left abandoned in the end, destined to be recycled into the dust of mother earth?

A baby does not know of its death. An adult cannot know otherwise. I think the death we fear is the loss of the person we have created in the course of our lives. That person is not immortal, but the universe is. Our salvation depends upon our identification with the hidden nurturing force that has been with us from our gestation. A baby in the womb does not know its mother until sometime after birth. But it does have a generalized awareness of that which nurtures it. As adults, it behooves us to do the same. The difference, of course, is that we approach this awareness from a very different starting point. Our life’s experience and personal decisions have mapped both the world we live in and our own self-image. These are defining and therefore limiting concepts. It is only when we can see ourselves from outside ourselves that we begin to understand what modern science and the wisdom of the ages have revealed. We exist in a womb of life throughout every phase of our existence, not just in its prenatal phase. In the very realization of this fact, we become liberated of our finite existence and begin to see our personal life as part of an interplay the universe has engaged with itself. My personal role is part of a musical score that transcends my lone note. When I truly recognize my part, I can find the wisdom that brings harmony to my life. I realize that I am of the universe and must act in concert with it. The Bible says that we were created in the image of God. I believe that image is our identification with the universe which extends further than we can see and far longer than human imagination can fathom. In other words, in those moments when we reach for and touch that identification, we experience our immortality.

Every human being is born of woman. In the mother’s womb, a baby experiences a primal awareness before it even knows itself. In life, that same human defines his/her self, but can easily lose his/her place in the universe. Herein is the ultimate mystery of human life. Becoming a person is just the first step toward maturity. The penultimate is an awakening to the Transcendent within the womb of life.

Have you ever been entranced by a flock of birds flying in formation and wondered about their togetherness? Recently, I watched a documentary entitled “The Migration of Penguins.” These birds do not fly, but they know how to huddle together in defiance of the subzero cold and turbulent wintry gusts of the Antarctic. Their togetherness defines their survival. The ducks below my window are also together: they arrive and depart the local pond as one unit. I never see a lone duck there. And, of course, ducks fly in triangular formation just like migratory birds. Canadian Geese, for example, traverse my sky twice per year. The lead bird at the point of the triangle always points due north or south according to the season and the promise of warmer venues. But birds are not alone in finding security in cooperative groups. There are elk, deer, zebra, buffalo, and so on, that find security in herds, as well as social animals that feel compelled to live in tribes and communities. We humans, like all primates, are amongst the later. As I pondered this fact, I thought of the word “congregation.” It comes from two Latin words—con-, “together” and grex, “flock, herd, crowd”—that capture this symbiotic relationship. My initial association was that of a simile: we are like other animals in our need to form close structured relationships with our own kind. We may not always find it necessary to huddle together against the cold, march in formation, or line up together in subways or food courts. But we do have a basic need and compulsion to organize ourselves with rules, customs, and conventions that keep us together as a functioning society. We are like other congregations of life forms or species on our planet.

But there is more than a simile here. Did you know that the human body contains many life forms that are not human? In fact, our human genes are outnumbered 10 to 1 by the genes of other species cohabitating in our bodies. These parasitical species that live in us actually serve us, enabling many functions of our vital organs. Without them, we could not survive. (As a parenthetical note, recent studies have pointed out the threat antibiotics pose to these cohabiting life forms and, therefore, to us.) You see, the simile can be seen as a metaphor: each one of us is a congregation of life forms. A scientist, however, would not find a metaphor here, but a statement of fact: each of us is a colony of life forms. So what metaphor do I find in this fact? And how does my metaphor differ from the obvious simile with other animals?

The fact that we individuals are many is conceptual, but not experiential. I know that microbes and bacteria live in my body, but I experience myself as one person in mind, body and soul. My introspection uncovers only my lone existence. But is not this experience a microcosm of the world in which we live: one supreme consciousness, but myriad forms, both organic and inorganic. Now you might not “believe” in a world consciousness aware of itself. Physicists, however, have no better explanation for the quantum transformations at the heart of the universe. You might call this new physics metaphysics for it looks to a non-physical dimension to explain the discontinuity and non-locality of the forces underlying the visible world. It is because I can use the term “metaphysics” that I can see a metaphor in the collective existence of an individual composed of some 200 genomes, including the human genome. You see, each one of us mirrors the world: outwardly, the congregations of many life forms make up the world we inhabit; inwardly, we are a congregation composed of many life forms. Yet, upon reflection, each one of us is only aware of his/her self. Would the creative consciousness at the heart of quantum physics be aware of anything other than itself as the dynamic source of everything?

If you can accept a non-physical dimension—a quantum consciousness—at the heart of everything, then you can see the metaphor I see in the human individual as a congregation of life forms. Every human being is reflective of all that is. Perhaps the best expression of this metaphor is the ancient Sanskrit often quoted by Joseph Campbell: “Thou art that.”

The story of the tower of Babel presents a conundrum that has ever shadowed human history. In Genesis, God seemed wary of what Babylonians might accomplish since they all spoke the same language: “And the Lord said, ‘Truly, they are one people and they all have the same language. This is the beginning of what they will do. Hereafter they will not be restrained from anything which they determine to do’ (Genesis, 11:6).” And so He “confused” their speech and scattered them all over the earth. As a consequence, that tower designed to reach to the very heavens would never be completed. What was true in Genesis is still true today: little can be accomplished without communication and cooperation.

Biblical scholars would deftly point out that the story of Babel tells us that God wanted Hebrew to be the primary language reserved for the use of His people in their promised land. Gentiles would never be as united as the Jews since they spoke dissimilar languages and were broadly dispersed. But even today Hebrew is not the universal language of all Jews, not even in Israel. Moreover, however true it may be that language unites and identifies a people, it does not always result in effective communication and cooperation. Several European countries, for example, tried to make language the unifying element in the establishment of empires. But the colonial system eventually crumbled. Likewise, Russian was always the “official” language of the Soviet Confederation, but it did not hold that empire together either. Although Genesis tells us how the building of a ziggurat can be stopped, it also implies that, unrestrained, the Babylonians might have accomplished “anything they determine to do.” After all, they were “one people,” implying that they were of one mind. Even though there are those who have argued that a universal language and shared values might lead to a new world order where peace and justice would reign, I think history tells us the path to this utopia is filled with potholes and detours. Countries may conquer their neighbors and reengineer their linguistic and cultural forms, but they cannot compel cooperation. Something else, much more subtle, is required.

The difference in language and culture is not the main obstacle to a stable world order where peace and justice are secured for all. In fact, that difference is merely a feature of an underlying reality. We perceive things after our own individual fashion, even to the extent of disagreeing on the facts. We build a meaningful framework for ourselves where all the puzzle pieces can be neatly fit. That framework is based upon our personal life experiences to include not only our familial, social, and cultural context, but also our freely chosen path through life’s maze of options. In a very real sense, we create the milieu of our personal lives: it could be said that we traverse our lifespans in an ambient allusion. Truly, the Babylonians had no more difficulty in building their tower than we do today, navigating amidst all the “isms,” self-interests, and biases that intersect in our contemporary media storm. Nevertheless, progress is somehow made, but how? Take the American political system as an example. It is built around a check and balance system where compromise is required. But compromise too often leads to mediocre or half-baked solutions: when all self-interests are served, sometimes the best solution is bypassed. In our diverse society, various group moral codes can conflict over issues of life, death, and the very foundation of social organization (e.g., abortion, contraception, torture, the social safety net, the justification for preemptive force, the role of government in the lives of private citizens, and so on). And yet, over time, this dissonance in our society is often overcome or banished with the dissolution of a failed social structure, like slavery. Whether it is the fall of Rome, the end of feudalism, or democratically inspired revolutions, history provides many examples where tipping points are reached and humanity leaps forward. What inspires such change? And how can we grapple with our problems today to bring about the next leap forward?

Well, I believe we need to change the context. My myopic perspective, honed from my life’s experience, will not likely provide the answer; and nor will yours. We need a broader perspective that bridges the individual to the collective. Art, for example, lives in the creative world of imagination where inspiration is collective. Observing a work of art is the act of participating in that initial inspiration. That participation needs no common language, for it is a priori the basis of subsequent expression. The indefinable emotions that arrest our mind before nature’s power, the source of human suffering, or our mortality are transcendent of our ego psyche. These experiences are not only shared by all of us, but are expansive of the individual perspective. It is in this manner that the collective will can take a discontinuous leap forward and overcome moral boundaries that justify the suppression of women and minorities, the exercise of preemptive force over a non-threatening people, the accumulation of power and resources to the exclusion of the vast majority, and so on. Framing a new context means being open to intuition, that receptivity to the light that shines universally in each one of us. The founders of our constitutional government, for example, shared a common vision that breached individual differences. They were equally inspired to recognize a fundamental truth: any social structure must secure life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all. As a result, America is now the oldest democracy in the world. What new vision can unite a world where language barriers will no longer inhibit the spread of ideas? Could we face a future energy crisis or the specter of a polluted planet with diminished resources if we viewed our context more universally than corporate, national, or regional perspectives? Would not what inspired the Dutch to build dykes motivate every sea-level city from New York to San Francisco to Hong Kong to take similar measures? Or, because a rising sea has no impact on Dallas, Seattle, Berlin or Beijing, would we fail to act as one people? In other words, would we simply fail to see the broader context?

Of course, that broader vision alone will not in itself breach the boundaries I reference. We need compassion for each other—for all races and gender—beyond the restrictions of language, culture, religious beliefs, and physical distance. But before compassion can even be fired in our hearts, we need the light of a collective awareness. Each of us exists within and depends upon the life support systems of a tiny planet, revolving around an inconsequential star in one of many galaxies. We are, in fact, “one people,” alike in nature AND in circumstance. “This is the beginning of what they will do,” else we (“they”), scattered and confused, will accomplish nothing.

It is true that we humans are wired to make sense of our lives. But when that sense is focused on ego and personal context, humanity as a whole makes no sense at all.

Yesterday I walked in a sunlit drizzle, wondering what the forecast would bring. Would the sky open up into a warm spring day? The temperature was about 70 degrees. Or would the clouds convene into a darkened shroud and unleash a downpour? There were already reports of flooding in my area. The northwesterly winds that normally bring our cold winter rains had ceased for the last two years, leaving most of California in drought conditions. But the clouds that hung over my landscape on this day came from the more tropical south, carried on a Jetstream that has wreaked havoc for the entire United States. Our normal winter pattern has been interrupted by this Jetstream which has carried our winter north, where the polar front bounced it southward to entrench the eastern half of the country in rain, snow and ice. Whether I was to be drenched or warmed, clearly my only choice was to walk in a sunlit drizzle. Life has its risks, including everything from a rare spring deluge to death itself.

Our species has lived on this planet for a very brief part of its history. Yet we have developed timeless world views to explain our place within it. In much of human pre-history, our forebears believed that life never ends: the cave bear returns as does the buffalo; life extended beyond death, ever to return in various forms. With the advent of agriculture, the cycle of planting, harvesting and seeding brought the system of death and rebirth into our world view. Nearly all our orthodox religions have mythologized these two perspectives into their structure and organization. We either believe in immortality of some sort and/or the need to surrender to death in order to be reborn into new life.

It has long been believed that only humans are aware of their own mortality. I’m not sure this belief is valid, since we cannot get into the mind of other animals. Elephants, for example, recognize themselves in a mirror. The ability to objectify one’s self is the first step to visualizing your future self—and therefore your death. Whales clearly become kamikaze when a whaler kills their mate. Life without this lifelong bond seems not worth living to them. Choosing death over survival presumes acceptance of death—and that acceptance seems to presume awareness. Nevertheless, it is clear that animals have not developed world views or religions to help them deal with life’s uncertainties or even with their own mortality. We have. But have we cheated death, the mysterium tremendum?

The word “religion” comes from the Latin verb religere, “to bind or link back.” Like the word “yoga”—which means “yoke” or “bind”—religion is the experience of connecting to the source of life and consciousness. What else could a sentient, self-conscious being connect to, other than to all that is? For in our minds we can conceive all that we observe and conjecture the rest. We can relate to things, because we share their substance. We can relate to living organisms, because we are the same. We can relate to the patterns we find in nature—the laws and organization of matter and energy—because we pattern our lives and societies after conventions and laws we create for ourselves. My point is that religion is not a static belief system, but a living experience. The belief systems of organized religion may differ on particulars (and you are free to believe in any one of them), but they cannot exist without the experience of connection to the world we inhabit. Intrinsic to that connection is foreknowledge and acceptance of death.

And so I continued my walk yesterday, pondering life’s many uncertainties. Like the weather, I suddenly realized I had very little control over much of my life, including my death. All that I am or will be is no more than the flicker of a candle that will eventually burn out many eons after my time. And yet I was walking in the midst of it all, alive and aware of what overshadowed my every step. But this was not the time to entertain anxieties and fears. There may be devastating floods or springtime birdsong. It is all the same. The Buddhists say one must participate with joy in the sorrows of the world. Likewise, I think it best to walk blithely in a sunlit drizzle.