At the End of the World

We humans love placing limits on everything. It helps us define reality, contain it, assimilate it. It gives us a minimum sense of control in an ever-changing world. Placing limits is our way of clinging to a rock in the middle of a sea storm. It’s the same reason why we build houses, to find shelter. Not only from cold, ferocious animals or evil people, but also to make us feel safe.

The end of the world is a cape you can find in different countries. There is always something special about being in the ultimate border, to stand looking at the sea ‘knowing’ there is nothing beyond. ‘Knowing’ that there is no infinite, that our world has limits and, therefore, it can be known.

I try to convince myself that my aim is not to know, unlearn, let go. But if I could just press the button for unknowing, would I? How naked would I feel without my ‘knowledge’? Does the combination of knowledge I have acquired and its interpretation make me who I am? Does it not?

Knowledge – information gathered through our lives, stored in memory, and associated in a way that can be interpreted – enables us to predict the future to a certain extent. It reduces uncertainty. We humans have always wanted to know what lays in the future, even if it’s misaligned with our preferences. Unanswered questions are holes we need to fill so that we are not invaded, so that we can feel safe. Knowing that one is sick is better than not knowing whether one is sick or not. We need to cover our uncertainty with some cloth, whatever it may be. Even if they are the emperor’s new and transparent clothes that we wear to defend ourselves from the unknown.

No one is so wrong as the man who knows all the answers.

The way of Chuang Tzu, Thomas Merton

Would I want to unlearn everything I ‘know’? If I’m honest, the answer is I don’t want to. It is somehow precious to me. As if not knowing would be too risky. Now that I have finally reached some degree of understanding… have I, though? No, I can’t let go of this feeling of knowing why things happen, this soothing sensation that the world is not chaotic, that I am able to predict what will happen to some degree, that I will be able to adapt and survive. Is that, in the end, fear of death?

What if I were wrong? Would I rather wear a false suit than be naked? Obviously yes, I would. Living on the edge of doubt, of uncertainty, I experience a sensation of vertigo that is difficult to bear for a long time. And yet… the nakedness of unknowing also brings an exhilarating joy, the kind of intensity one feels when absolutely everything is possible. Scents are stronger, light is brighter… Was it all there, all this time, while I ‘knew’?

Knowledge allows us to predict the future, partially, and makes us feel safer. But it is also a defence from immediate life. Things do look different when we are not trying to interpret them. People look different. We look different. Our inability for acceptance, to just flow with life, our obsession with control or the illusion of some control deprives us from the joy of the moment.

We are mystery, not certainty. It is the question that matters, the doubt, the lack, not the answers to fill the void. There are no answers. Answers are limiting, as they exclude all other possibilities. Knowledge is limiting. Only doubt is free.

Such is the perfect man: His boat is empty.

The way of Chuang Tzu, Thomas Merton

“We begin as a seeker, but all the while, it is the absence of the seeker that we seek.” Reading other people’s blogs and tweets, I realised I had become part of a community, somehow, and that I was playing my part, contributing my piece of the puzzle, and that all pieces were complementary and necessary. I realised that I would never see the full picture, but that I could contribute to the common architecture of a whole… being.