Among my
earliest memories, is that I was plagued by questions that no one else seemed
to ask. At about age four or five, I
clearly remember looking at a wall clock, analog, and contemplating the passage
of time. The red hand, which marks
seconds, was on the ten, moving toward the twelve. I remember thinking to myself, the twelve is
in the future. Then, as the second hand
reached the twelve, I said, the twelve is in the present. But just as I said that, I then said, the
twelve is in the past, and it will never again be in the present or future. I wondered about this. I still do.
When I
learned about atoms and electrons, I was told that all electrons are exactly
alike. They have the same mass and
charge, with no variation. I asked, then
how can you say that electrons are different from each other? If two things are alike in every way, then they
have the same identity. The very word,
“identical,” refers to identity, and therefore all electrons must be the same
electron, and an electron can be in more than one place at the same
time—whatever time is.
As you can
see, from a very early age I was already in over my head. Worse yet, not being an Einstein, my average
intellect imposed strict limits on how far my musings could go.
When I first
encountered Hinduism / Buddhism, one of the first concepts I found was that of
the unknowable essence, about which nothing can be said. It is not here, but it is not elsewhere. It is untrue to say either of these things
about essence. Nor can one say both of
these are true, nor can one say that neither of these are true, nor can one say
that they are true and not true. No
matter what one says about the essence, it is not true, not even this.
I began
writing down my reflections and contemplations in a diary. One of my relatives found the diary and gave
it to my parents, with the advice that they should seek a psychiatrist for me,
since I was clearly crazy.
Eventually I
did find people with whom I could discuss such matters. Some very long-lasting friendships developed,
but after some years, we lost contact.
Then, recently, I re-encountered one of my old friends, and I hoped to
resume some of our “weighty” discussions.
To my dismay, he told me that he was no longer interested. When, in disbelief I asked why, he insisted
that I not ask, and so of course I abandoned my hope of rekindling our talks.
More
commonly, I frequently find that most people seem to be utterly disinterested
in discussing anything beyond what they deem to be the immediate, practical concerns
of everyday life. They may momentarily
show some slight interest, but basically, they want to know how such a
discussion will help them make more money, or whatever.
One person
said to me, okay, so when you discover the ultimate truth, what good will it do
you? You still have to eat.
Another
said, so if I sacrifice my life to save all of humanity, what good will it do me? I’ll be dead.
Another said,
okay, so eventually we all die, but while I’m alive, I’m going to have as much
fun as I can.
To be
honest, there were times when I envied such people. How nice it is not to wonder what
consciousness is, what is the smallest particle of space, what is the largest
finite number?
But I have
come to the conclusion that, for some of us, it is in our DNA to ask, to
wonder, to struggle to better understand, even if we know we can never
understand it all.
I don’t wish
to understand it all. I just wish to
understand enough, just enough, so that while I still have curiosity, I no
longer strain to find the answers to the unanswerable.
Just enough
food, just enough water and air, love, knowledge—but not more than that.
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