Simplicity and Silence
I appreciate now the insistent lessons of the natural world around me, including my ultimate inability to control my existence, or prevent my non-existence, within it.
I’ve been a philosophy professor for 17 years. For the past four years, I’ve received cancer treatment. One thing this has meant for me is that, for entirely practical reasons, I’ve pursued the most fundamental philosophical question, the meaning of existence. How do I live when my life may be ending? The answer is clear: simply, very simply!
Somehow I understood that I could live with cancer if I looked at it for what it is. I didn’t want to live always fearful of the bad news, desperate for the good. I decided I wanted to be able to expect the worst, and to live with it, that is, to live normally with it. So I learned to respond to what was happening, and not to think about what I wanted, or expected, to be happening.
I found empowerment in accepting what I could not make go away. I used to think that if I thought I had little time left, I would travel to places I had not seen, as if to fill remaining time with new sights and activities. Instead, I am drawn to simplicity and silence, to observe and feel the movement of trees, birds, clouds, water the most ordinary. I appreciate now the insistent lessons of the natural world around me, including my ultimate inability to control my existence, or prevent my non-existence, within it.
Albert Einstein said that we fear death, and hence life, because we cling to an idea of ourselves as discrete individuals, and if we could just see ourselves as part of the mysterious unfolding of the universe, which is beautiful in its complexity, we wouldn’t be so fearful. When I learned Vipassana meditation, and began practicing it intensively, I discovered that the Buddha taught a similar idea: He taught that the simple practice of observing our constantly changing mental and physical structure provides awareness of the nature of human existence, which is, after all, impermanent.
It’s a simple idea, but hard. I see things as they are, not as I want them to be, and start again, from here.
Peace and freedom are pursued through silence, at least in important part. Or so I now believe. I don’t mean just exterior silence, often experienced in agitation. I mean silence of the mind, which is freedom from endless mental conversations, rooted mostly in fear and self importance, and from unfounded and domineering expectations that undermine sensitivity to the here and now.
Thomas Merton said that in silence is the victory over death. He included daily deaths — aging, illnesses disappointments. So, as it happens, my current circumstances provide academic opportunity. As I learn to live with disruption and loss, I understand differently, and more fully, much that I've previously understood in part. Wisdom is gained from what is felt, and what is lived, most often in silence — miraculous silence. I have always believed this. I’m grateful now to know how much and in what ways it matters.
For This I Believe, I’m Susan Babbit in Kingston.
