As It Is
Even our inner fragmentation makes up a rich diversity of being.
Each of us, in our present state, is whole. Perhaps it doesn’t seem so, but essentially it is. Yet we tend to live looking to a future, improved state, to be complete, or at least enhanced. It often seems as though the state of real value, or the state we are looking for, is somewhere else. But we will never be where we are not. The value in us, always, is wherever and however we are in this moment. This is not news to many, and yet its meaning doesn’t seem to sink in. What is your current state or current situation? Consider it, for a moment, if you will.
Maybe you are anxious and afraid, insecure that you somehow don’t measure up. Maybe by external metrics it’s even true – you’re not as “intelligent” (there is within us a much deeper intelligence than quick reasoning), beautiful, accomplished, or materially wealthy as others. Maybe you’re living with chronic illness and experience severe limitation in your day to day life, or you have a disability that makes processes very easy to many others particularly difficult for you. Maybe you’re living in constant pain or poverty, or you’re in a process of mourning, rocked by grief. Or maybe you’re caring for a loved one who is suffering or in need, and your life is bound to a structure of support for them. All of these are situations that might be lamented by observers, or by those living in them, and they’re all limiting and difficult. Yet there is value in every situation – not even for its particularities, but simply because it is.
Nature is filled with diversity. We have used our minds to categorize species and parts, and we have a general idea of what a “mushroom” is, for example. But obviously no two mushrooms are the same, and a category is a generalization. In reality, diversity is everywhere: even in a field, each blade of grass is entirely unique, and a world in itself. If we look at nature, beyond the uniqueness of “individual” organisms, we also find an infinity of states of being. Some organisms are decaying, some trees have limbs torn off from storms; some bushes have been grazed or trampled. Nature is not neat or polite. On the surface it’s even chaotic. If you imagine with exaction a “perfect” organism, perhaps the “ideal” lily or birch, and look for it as you walk through a forest, you will seldom find it. But we don’t go out into nature looking for “perfection,” searching for an ideal form or circumstance. It is the embrace of all the wild diversity of forms and states, exuberantly abundant, fertile and unrefined, that make a forest whole. That is why we go into nature – to feel the richness of harmony beyond form, and to feel that all forms, and all states, generate and partake in it. There is a raw virtue and potency in the simple vibrancy of a scattered forest, unapologetic and true.
The same vibrancy is in all of us, wherever we are. Unlike plants and animals, though, we have to choose to allow it to come through us. As humans we have a special capacity to deny and repress ourselves, often in the name of some ideal – maybe an ideal state of wealth, success or health that we want to attain, or an ideal image of our own behavior. When we are out of touch with the vibrancy in us, we often feel that it is wrong or irresponsible to accept ourselves as we are in this moment, fractured as we may be compared to our ideals. Our power, though, and the deep value in us, emerges through acceptance, and through being simply and organically what we are, wherever we are.
Of course, some states of being really are difficult, and we may really prefer a change in our situation. We may want pain to end, or a harsh limitation to give way to something more open. Even amidst pain, though, and even amidst limitation, there is a sort of inward openness we can find in ourselves. When we start to explore internally and allow ourselves to be as we are, curiosity and life are brought to the difficulties we face. We come alive, even in a state of fragmentation or pain. We are thus whole as we are.
We can be deeply sad, and still present, experiencing the particularity of that sorrow as we might a damp, hazy dusk, unsettling and quiet. We can be yelling angrily, and still be present, noticing the explosive nature of anger, and its assertive push. We can be in great physical pain, or exhausted, and still present, noticing that weight and letting it be. Of course, presence itself is healing, so being present tends to move us through pain and fragmentation into health and balance. That state of health, though, is not a goal, but an eventual result of presence. Deeper health is here, now, as we are. Beauty and value are not only in a state of resolution, but in being wholly present wherever we are, with whatever is. There is rich diversity in that spectrum of states of being, both in our inner experiences, and in the world.
Artists throughout history have observed this in their subjects. They may have found a wilting flower, on its way into death, more moving than a neatly blooming one. Some spent long periods focused on warfare, conflict, and human suffering, like Spanish painter Francisco Goya, who depicted brutal and unromantic scenes of murder during Spain’s resistance to Napoleon. Others were particularly inspired by the marginalized, like French painter Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, who was inspired by the “urban underclass” of prostitutes and nightclub denizens of nineteenth century Paris.
Granted, in the cases of many of these artists (such as Toulouse-Lautrec, who was ridiculed as “a freak” for his physical “deformity”), there were deep personal reasons for their attraction to such subjects. Perhaps they looked for the presence and wholeness in their own situations, and did so through projection, portraying with dignity and beauty (and intention, and patience – it takes focus to paint) external scenes that spoke to their internal landscapes. But you don’t have to be skilled in any particular medium or technique to experience the dignity and fullness of what is. You don’t have to render something external through artistic creation. You can always look inward, and find the creative power of awareness in being where you are, as you are.
It is probably worth noting that the aforementioned artists, like many others, lived in relatively tormented states, and that despite finding inspiration around them, did not seem to find lasting internal peace. Perhaps they found moments of inspiration; moments of presence, but did not realize the depth of such presence or the power it could have. Perhaps they experimented with awakening, but did not move deeply into it, internally. Or perhaps they often experienced a sense of peace underlying their suffering, with moments of great release and others of tension. I don’t know about each particular case, or why some seem to come so close to awakening but don’t quite realize it. I do know, however, that pain and hardship, and awareness (and even peace), are not mutually exclusive. It is possible to find openness, depth, and joy anywhere, even amidst a physical or emotional hurricane, and it is possible to sense an underlying peace even when others may not see it in you or your situation.
Where are you, now? What is your situation and what is your state? Look into it! Whatever it is, it’s ok, and there is deep meaning and power in it. Whoever you are, a true artist would find the beauty in your state, and render you with dignity. Can you accept the totality of your current situation and allow such dignity and creative power to come through you as you are? Can you participate with others in a sort of human forest, robust in its diversity? We are always ready to be born, not into some other state, but wholly into what we are, now.
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