The Mind Shift That Brought Me Peace

So I began to live for others... specifically, I began to live for my daughter. She became my driving force... my purpose, and as the shift from a self-focused life to a life focused on another solidified, my own ego dissipated. I began to realize that I was no longer afraid of death. What was death but the end of a life I was no longer devoted to?

I also noticed that I no longer held to a belief in God, not because a faith wasn't present, but because a faith wasn't necessary. I noticed that not only did I not "need" God. I didn't even need an answer to the question, "Is there a God?". The question became small, benign and uninteresting to me. It was a question reserved for those still enslaved to their own ego.

One day I realized that both Atheism and Christianity share the same hook: a plea to human ego. On the one hand you have Christianity which offers the promise of the preservation of ego if you accept Jesus Christ as your own personal Lord and Savior; and on the other hand you have Atheism, which promises to ingratiate the individual with an inflated ego that presupposes it's ability to reason all that can be reasoned. Neither of these ideologies now appeals to me, because they both presuppose that the audience is devoted to self-interest, and in my case, the supposition is incorrect.

With regard to the peace I now have access to... there's a stillness about it. When I examine it closely, I notice that it's an acute awareness of the present moment, such that I fully see people in front of me. I notice small, seemingly inconsequential, sensations in my body; and I not only notice them... but they become profound in a way. There's this feeling of being held by the universe... regarded by the universe. A gratitude swells in my soul such that it spills over... sometimes to such an immense degree that I can't help but tear up; for who am I that I should experience such overwhelming regard (love) from the entire universe? Why am I afforded this Nirvana when others suffer so much sorrow and pain?

And you began to notice people... people still stuck devoted to their own ego... and your heart goes out to them because you know that they're afraid to die. You know that they put pressure on themselves to achieve some bullshit dream that the world has told them is worth pursuing: the perfect career, the nice house, the fancy car. A sorrow wells up inside you, because you can see they suffer; and the suffering they experience is causing them not to be in the present, such that they miss the sunset, the warm glance of a stranger, the satisfaction of that first sip of coffee in the morning before work.

Even
After
All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,

"You owe me."

Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky. ~ Hafiz

And you become the love you thought you needed from someone else. You begin to feel your sorrow and despair — not as your own, as you once did — but as that of others. Feeling these sensations is now your super power: you interpret the pain as that of the universe. As such, you seek to alleviate such unpleasantries where you can... so you start to write letters to friends who might be going through something or who are alone. You check in on people you haven't heard from in awhile. You sit with people who are in the midst of pain or loss. You tell those that matter to you, how you feel about them. You show up for people... not for yourself, but for them.

If you let go a little you will have a little peace; if you let go a lot, you will have a lot of peace; if you let go completely, you will have complete peace. ~ Ajahn Chah

And you die. The ego that once spurred you on to achieve for yourself dissipates. You begin to take pleasure in other people's successes rather than your own. You shy away from the spotlight so others might be recognized. You view death as a departure from a play, of which you feel fortunate to have played a part. You exit the stage hoping you contributed some benefit... some levity. You're content to sneak out the back door, giving the gaiety of the scene one last glance and grin as you slip away into the night. You don't matter anymore. You've devoted yourself to something bigger... something you perceive to be more important and substantial... something more eternal: everyone else.

Of course you have to still care for yourself, but the priority has changed. You've realized the folly in devoting an entire life to self interest and then dying.

When I was young, I used to always enjoy visiting my grandparent's house in Taccoa, Georgia. That side of the family was always so fun, and when a large group of us got together, I remember the laughter... so much laughter. My grandfather — the patriarch of the "Cabe Clan" — was so silly, but he had a warmth and a tender way about him. When he was with his brothers or his sons and their families, he seemed to be in his element; and the conversations were lively, immensely entertaining affairs. I was young and pretty shy at the time, so I didn't contribute much. I mostly just listened, and felt blessed to be in the room... grinning and laughing at whatever was being discussed.

One aspect of these gatherings that I've been reflecting on recently was my grandmother's contribution. I remember her being an excellent cook and she would make all sorts of delicious food for breakfasts, lunches and dinners. I don't remember her providing much in the way of the conversation, but she was a presence. She had a laugh, a grin... a caring, gentle way about her. Thinking back on my time with her specifically, I remember her being so giving. During any one of these family get togethers, in the midst of the laughter and gaiety, you could look over at Grandma Blonnie — who would most likely be fixing something in the kitchen — and see her chuckling through a wide grin.

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of going on an overnight camping trip with a group of seven other guys. As evening approached I settled in at the picnic table and took to slicing vegetables for the evening's meal. As I worked, the majority of the group — sitting behind me around a campfire — laughed and carried on, and as I worked, I noticed a silent joy wash over me. It was a joy of "being in the room"; I suppose... a joy, not so much of contributing to the conversation, but of being present for it. Reflecting on this experience, I can't help but think that this must have been the joy that my grandmother must have experienced all those years ago. I'm compelled to say that her contribution was the food, but it was so much more than that. It was her giving spirit, her grin, her sweet way, her presence, her love for all of us... I don't think it a stretch to say that if all of us were bricks, she was the mortar that held us all together... and as Hafiz so aptly points out...

"...Look what happens with a love like that, it lights the whole sky."

In my next post I'll make an effort to scientifically prove the existence of God and describe the merits of Anatheism.