The Forbidden Heights presents the underlying paradigms and patterns of our modern lives as myths and symbols that express our destructive or creative relationship with the world.
The body has its own processes, which we think we have the ability to understand through the lens of science. But this lens gives us only one perspective on these processes. While the body is simultaneously "operating" a vast array of functions, our minds can only understand them in a linear, fragmented fashion. The reason is that our intellectual capabilities can only handle information sequentially. In other words, we can generally think of only one thing at a time. Only fairly recently have we really begun to seriously think about the body as an interconnected, multi-dimensional process, not only in itself as an organism, but also as part of its larger enrivornment. The body is naturally equipped to deal with an enormous range of stimuli in its surroundings. It is also equipped in its own way to handle stress, pain and even death. Because of its multi-dimensional functioning, the body has a certain wisdom that greatly surpasses our intellectual understanding. It is entirely in a different realm and yet, strangely and paradoxically, we constantly try to impose our will and understanding on our bodies. We do so because we, or the idea of "me" or "I", is really a foreign agent within the sphere of the body. We think we operate our bodies like our automobiles but in fact, it is the "I" that is a nuisance and even an inhibitor to the body. The whole drama of life is contained within this tension.
In the end, the body dies according to its own nature and processes, regardless of our every effort to resist. Perhaps for most of us, only at that moment of death do we become witnesses to the true magnificence of this organism. Only then most of us will truly understand that death involves only the ending of the idea of “me” and not the body. The body is composed of a web of relationships and patterns symbolized by elements, atoms, heat and energy. It simply transforms into other “elements” which are also composed of relationships. Our fear of death is largely psychological, the root of which is this tension created by the concept of "I." Certainly, YOU did not formulate your body's embryonic cells. YOU did not develop your limbs and vascular systems, and most of all, YOU did not help yourself to be born. This process happened without YOUR intervention. Likewise, death is simply another process that happens with or without YOUR protest.
In this video, the late Theodor Roszak discusses the pitfalls of an information-based culture. He argues that we have placed too much importance on information and have readily embraced the computer as a potential substitute for the human brain. He contrasts information with ideas, knowledge and wisdom which can only be gained from human experiences and which cannot be codified into mere data.
It begins with the awareness of a constant nagging feeling, a deep-seated emotional hum that cannot be turned off or avoided. It has always been there behind every word, thought or deed, behind every sorrow or joy, behind every tragedy or triumph. Being human is strange indeed. And with it comes an existential sense of "I AM" that the mind cannot completely grasp. We go about our business often masking that feeling temporarily through the distractions of daily life. But everywhere we turn we butt up against the starkness of our being. It even haunts our dreams. We tell ourselves that we hold fast to beliefs about ourselves, god, love, money, the world, family and relationships. But it takes so very little to force us to loosen our grip on our ideologies or abandon them altogether. We are then left speechless and shocked; we realize that we are strangers unto ourselves. We take this to be a fundamental sense of alienation that we cannot seem to shake. We try to comfort ourselves with visions of oneness. We tell ourselves that we are all equal, that we are brothers and sisters in the eyes of god, nature or man-made laws. After all we belong to races, religions, regions, communities, and clubs. But once we are alone lying in our own bed, even with a partner next to us, we are again enfolded by this existential sense of "I AM". It is a sphere that no one can penetrate. Again, we feel as strangers unto ourselves.
Whatever you are currently doing and whether you know it or not, you are living by some kind of myth. You are acting it out. You are a vehicle for it.
A myth is a symbolic story of the relationship between your life and the world. It is a paradigm that is whole, coherent and forever unfolding. It can also be described as a psychological reality trhat moves without coincidences. It is laid out like a pattern or a track from start to finish, and your life follows it. If you could look at it from a bird's eye view, you would see the beginning and end simultaneously, as part of a unified movement.
A myth in itself is never right or wrong but is simply the reflection of your chosen relationship with the world. But that choice, which you have already made, may have you living your life uniquely and creatively or sleepwalking through it.
Absolutely no one, no parent, teacher, preacher or savior, is able to tell you what your myth is or should be. It is your dynamic, unique story that only you can stifle or help along to blossom like a flower. You may never be able to fully see and understand your myth because it lives beyond the borders of static concepts. It is in many ways paradoxical, but getting in touch with it may prove to be the most important thing you will ever do...
The words "empty tomb" may readily bring to mind the Christian story of Jesus and his resurrection. For believers, it is a reason for celebration. They live in the hope that someday they too will rise to eternal life... not today though, not now. But for those who answer the call and retreat inwardly to explore the wilderness of their spirits and reflect on the story of Jesus far away from the edifices of inherited teachings and traditions, the empty tomb carries an entirely different meaning. They shut their ears to the deafening noise of dogma and ideology and enter into a timeless, ever-burning silence that the world can never know or understand. In the furnace of that silence a certain sacred knowledge is forged that is stronger than any element. No matter how eloquent language may be, words can never convey that significance and strength to those who have never dared to take leave of their comfortable abodes and temples cluttered with icons and furnishings fashioned by the hands of strangers from another time, another place.
What drives one to venture into that inner wilderness, to take that solitary trek into the nocturnal desert of one's being and to abandon all that is known and all that has been erected by previous generations? It is a mystery indeed, though it may have something to do with the need for reconciliation to a broken heart that has been barely kept intact by an undying candle of innocence. It may have to do with the recognition of that inner flicker of light as a symbol for their own humanity. Those who venture out into the desert of their spirits, sometimes out of desperation, never find their way back. These are often deemed as criminals and madmen. They disappear forever into the darkness of their night and are like seeds scattered upon the rocks by the sower. But those who return, after having been baptized by their own solitude, are called sages. For in the midst of their dark and solitary night, they find a deep mystery which the light of the world can never reveal. Sages are not merely those who have perfected meditation over a lifetime or have developed some superhuman feat through constant practice. This is the image that the world would press upon them for easy consumption. Rather sages are molded by a certain quality that escapes any efforts to measure it. For one, sages are those who, despite their broken heart, return to the world because of their need to mend both. That fervent desire becomes their passion, even unto death. Their solitude is their burden and they carry it like a invisible cross on their backs wherever they go through every station of their lives. And yet strangely it sustains them.
Paradoxically, sages are intensely present and yet completely vacant. They are present insofar as they are sensitive to life with all of its pain and beauty, misery and joy. They touch every key in the entire range of the human scale; however they are absent from the world that constantly belittles and shuns the light rippling through the cracks of their broken heart. As such, the world does not care for them; it does not even recognize them. They have no meaning in the world, no position, no goals, aspirations or ambitions. They can be blown about like a reed in the wind, without resistance. The doors and windows of their homes are wide open where the air may freely circulate. There is, in the ultimate sense of presence and awareness, no one home. They possess nothing. Thieves have no interest in them and neither do the tax collectors nor the authorities. Sages live and move about openly and yet they are paradoxically hidden from view because the world does not have the eyes to perceive them. They are in a certain sense dead and yet their tomb is empty.
When today's conversations tread beyond inane talk about television programs, scandalous "tweets" or plans for the weekend, they sometimes turn into heated debates about politics, religion and other "serious" issues. As a rule, some people refuse to even entertain the idea of participating in such debates. In this way, no one gets upset and the pleasant veneer of conversation can remain in place. It is true... Some discussions can become downright polarizing and even alienating. It is quite easy to lose our perspective as we are quickly taken up by our emotions in defending our position; we become so impassioned as if possessed by an alien mind. Discourses become a will to power; they become more focused on asserting an opinion and a stance than on discovery, sharing and open-mindedness. As the ego struggles to assert itself, we end up only listening to our own voices. The conversation becomes a monologue of sorts with all other ideas filtered out. In the end, nothing is truly shared or communicated apart from a bit of myopic egoic masturbation. This effort to assert our position is in a way an existential, primordial cry for affirmation. Through it, we are looking for a sounding board, a resonant space for the echo of our own voice and presence. It is a resounding scream of "I am here!", an attempt at feeling some sense of vitality or self-affirmation that the outside world could never deliver. This is the ugly confrontation which many try to avoid.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, a good portion of the world population has been pacified. We have been told repeatedly that blessed are the meek, the poor, and the downtrodden. We lift up our eyes and take refuge in that sad, crucified figure and pin our hopes on a better life... after we are dead. Meanwhile the puppet masters and deity designers feast on a spiritually deadened population that is paralyzed with fear. A delicious irony it is that we have been pacified by an image of a true rebel. We have been beseeched to turn the other cheek, to put down our swords and to give up our will to a "greater will" in exchange for an eternal, blissful afterlife. Was this rebel not the one who turned over the tables of the moneychangers in the temple? Was he not the one who came to put a sword between mother and daughter, father and son? Was he not the one who would light the sky afire with power and great glory?
That old master-poet was not mindful of obedience or rebellion. He did not seek out violence. He sought the stark truth that can split stone and make mountains move from their place. And let all else be damned. He was a dangerous figure who would ignite the hearts of the masses with a creative fire and breathe into their lungs a breath as mysterious and primordial as the Universe itself. He did not teach submissiveness or obedience to stale traditions but rather questioned all authorities who would impose their truth on the human spirit, who would suffocate the childlike innocence in all of us, and who would deafen our ears to the song of the Universe.
From time to time, when my mind is not occupied by this, that or the other, my awareness flips a switch to disconnect from the programmed routine of daily life. All of a sudden I am looking at the world through the eyes of a complete stranger, seeing it for the first time without the filter of my personal burdens or any socially conditioned meaning or value. Like sparks flying from a campfire, these moments of absolute clarity live for only a few seconds but long enough to raise a specter that lies suppressed in the back of my mind. It is the specter of a waste land that pervades our modern life. Its sublime shadow stretches out before me in a perfect pattern from every backyard of the typical suburban home to the strip malls down the street and the outer edges of civilization. This pattern is woven intricately through our daily lives like a well-knit cap worn tightly around our skulls. But it cuts off the circulation in our brains so that we see the world through a design that does not breathe, lacking in life-sustaining oxygen. It is a distorted vision, an intoxication that does not wear off with time. Rather, we go from one hallucination to the next, like drug addicts, searching for a way to prolong it and take refuge in it.
Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable? - Gibran Khalil Gibran
For those who are still employed in this so-called Great Recession, the phrase "Thank God I have a job!" has become their mantra. It is even echoed by those who detest their work. While people complain of the daily grind that is largely devoid of any creativity and personal satisfaction, more than ever they are fearful of losing their source of income. A recent survey reveals that the majority of workers in the United States are dissatisfied with their jobs. Many of us feel so paralyzed, helpless and held in our place by the gravity of overwhelming debt and the cost of owning things that each day we willingly sacrifice the integrity of our lives for the security of a sterile job.
tWe are in chains on both ends. As workers, we feel trapped by our jobs. As consumers, we are mired in debt. The economic and demographic data is quite startling. Household and national debt has grown dramatically over the past few decades while the savings rate has diminished. The size of the average house has doubled over the last fifty years. Food portions have grown enormously in that time frame and so has the waistline of the average citizen. We are voraciously consuming not only material things but ideas as well, the greatest of which is the American Dream. And we are none the happier for it but quite the contrary. Depression, anxiety, insomnia and a sense of meaninglessness have become common beacons of that dream. Now, as employment channels dry up and consumers turn down their spending spigots, the illusory waters of affluence are receding and revealing some glaring and insightful artifacts buried in the murky bedrock of our current social order. The American Dream has become a mirage, even a nightmare for many, mired by bankruptcy, foreclosure and unemployment. Still, out of fear and insecurity we give thanks to the work that enslaves us and drains us of our creative energy as we continue to pursue the illusion and mindlessly consume junk that we neither need nor really want. Moreover, our frenzy is turning the planet into a garbage heap as we hope and pray for a quick recovery of the very system responsible for our misery. Perhaps some may think it is harsh to use the word "slavery" in describing the relationship of the majority of Americans to their work and consumer lifestyle. For most, that word conjures up images of Africans who were brought over to the United States several hundred years ago against their will to serve a master or a system in which they had no say; they had no power over their own destiny or even their daily routine. With this in mind, could we draw any connection between "traditional" slavery and the lifestyle of modern workers and consumers? Do they really have the freedom often advertised in all mainstream media or are they unknowingly ensnared by an illusion?
Know that an awakening of sorts is taking place when you begin to recognize in the world, in your waking consciousness, the symbols that have been typically relegated to being your guides in your night dreams.
Whatever you are currently doing and whether you know it or not, you are living by some kind of myth. You are acting it out. You are a vehicle for it.
