Paradoxes

BY DAVID M. BERMUDO

WHY is it that he who desires much is often left with nothing? Why is it that he who desires so little is often inundated with so much?

Why is it that he who has so much materially is often impoverished spiritually?  Are matter and spirit antithetical?  Can they also be complimentary?  When?  

Is this seeming contradiction the order of things?  The more one is dependent on material and external things, the less independent he is to explore the territories within.  If one needs material things to be happy then we have a problem with happiness.  Even if we need things of the spirit we still have a problem. The needing is the problem.

All unfulfilled needs lead to unhappiness unless it partakes of renunciation or sacrifice which affirms the sufficiency of the Atman/Christ Center within. The Atman/Christ Center, Sacred Self must be enough!

Iconic I am not. Brilliant I am not. Humble and intelligent I am, if you insist…he-he-he.  Sarcastic? Sometimes. Of the gentle kind. Ironic?  Sometimes. Of the steely kind.  Philosophical? I am. Spiritual? Maybe.  Literary?  You bet!  Handsome? Never mind.

Silence must never be used against any creature great or small.  It can only be used as a strategy to calm the nerves and reign in the desires, to grip the heart and control the mind.

And what of giving gifts?  The gift maybe in the form of something given to us or here’s the paradox – something taken from us – but whatever it is – whether the giving has given us pleasure or the taking has caused us pain, the acceptance necessary for transcendence is the real gift and must be seen as such otherwise the whole rigmarole is a useless exercise in an attempt to live.

If we are going to partake of the essence of the Godhead, then we must travel inward, towards the source which is within us. We don’t have to isolate ourselves like Trappist monks in Guimaras or shave our heads and beg for alms.  

We don’t have to castrate ourselves or wear sack cloths to advertise our poverty.  We don’t have to cross oceans and hoodwink people with crosses or cut their balls with scimitars.  We don’t have to talk in tongues of fire or appear to small children tending to their sheep in isolated villages.  

We don’t have to drown ourselves in rivers in a ritual we call baptism or have ourselves circumcised to prove that we are clean and thus deserving of salvation.  We don’t have to do any of these.  

We can have our journey, our pilgrimage, our metanoia in the midst of the crowd, in Calle Real, Quiapo or New Lucena.  We can do it in an Armani suit or panther leggings.  We can do it in bed or in the temple of the Holy Spirit or of whores.  

The place does not matter. Only the journey counts.  It is not a matter of going somewhere.  One can travel while sitting or standing still.  It is the art of motionless motion, of moving in place. T.S. Eliot in “Hollow Men” knew it. Ulysses missed it, thus he travelled in Odyssey looking for himself.  Buddha made the banyan tree his space ship and scoured the universe.  Fr. Urdaneta circumnavigated the world not knowing that his kitchen in Malaga is universe enough if he knew what he was looking for.  

It is easy to look for something after you’ve found it. The way is clearer when the lights are on.  The path begins where it ends.  Paradoxes?  Life itself is a paradox./PN