Endless Longing for More – Suzanne Foxton
There is no more point to going to a meeting of friends together, a satsang [or whatever we’re calling it today] than there is of anything else. It is all sound and fury, it all signifies nothing. Sometimes it’s silence and comfort but nothing it still signifies. Perhaps presence with others is desirable, perhaps some mind-quelling understanding or brain-stilling space can be more easily discerned, but that then is the story of desirability or easy discernment or the usefulness of a still, unthinking mind.
Some seekers of truth come away from such meetings concluding that no matter what the speaker says or does, it is pleasant to pass some hours and converse with like-minded friends and acquaintances. The contentedness of the speaker is somehow catching; the fact that whatever is, here, now, this very moment, seems to be more than enough for the speaker rubs off a little, and the seeker feels a little more satisfied with life. Is being satisfied with life the goal? Is there a goal?
As Ravenous Fishes, Do a Vessel Follow that Is New-trimm’d, but Benefit no Further than Vainly Longing…
Maybe there is some spontaneous brain-bending change of perception. Even if there is, when it is no longer, it is only a spark of memory. Whatever form this takes, it is the same essence. Boredom, hatred, love, hope, creation, murder; these are all the faces of the same nothingness that seemingly takes form. Feeling that endless longing for more, going to a meeting with a teacher, writing, blogging, reading, talking, grasping for the ever-elusive understanding of This: it is all This.
Whatever is, is just what it is.
It is as it is; it is as it must be.