There is an unspeakable gem whose light comes seemingly from all around us, but in truth is an upwelling from within us. Our relationship to that upwelling light – to that source of love – is really where we find the meaning of life, and we discover this relationship in the mirror of the present moment.
But when we are caught up in imagination, whenever we are lost in thought, we can’t see the purpose of life that is right in front of us.
For example, when we look out a window we can see the grass, the trees, and the seasons rotating around everything we see. But can we see that death is not the end of life? That tree, even when it withers and falls to the ground, isn’t the end of the tree. It’s the end of the form of the tree. And everything that constitutes the tree becomes part of the grass, everything that’s part of the grass becomes part of the soil, everything that’s part of the soil becomes part of the next tree. It is an inescapable fact that death is not the end of life.
There is no end to real life, but within us dwells a nature that keeps running into what it says is the “end” of me. What do we serve in the moment when we suddenly find ourselves faced with something we regret? What do we serve when we’re faced with the onset of a depression? What do we serve in the moment when we realize we’ve done all of this again ... for nothing? What do we serve when our heart and mind are as barren as a winter’s tree, and all we can do in those moments is turn on ourselves with a vengeance for not being what we imagine we should be? What do we serve in those moments? We serve in those moments a part of ourselves that believes in death, a nature that believes in the end instead of the beautiful real-life process of transformation.