And in Galapagos, I began to realize that, because I was in deeply
attentive states, hour after hour watching animals and birds and
landscapes — and that’s all I did for almost two years — I began to
realize that my identity depended not upon any beliefs I had, inherited
beliefs or manufactured beliefs, but my identity actually depended on
how much attention I was paying to things that were other than myself.
And that as you deepen this intentionality and this attention, you
started to broaden and deepen your own sense of presence. And I began to
realize that the only place where things were actually real was at this
frontier between what you think is you and what you think is not you.
That whatever you desire of the world will not come to pass exactly as
you will like it.
But the other mercy is that whatever the world desires of you will
also not come to pass. And what actually occurs is this meeting, this
frontier. But it’s astonishing how much time human beings spend away
from that frontier, abstracting themselves out of their bodies, out of
their direct experience, and out of a deeper, broader, and wider
possible future that’s waiting for them if they hold the conversation at
that frontier level.
This quotation is from David Whyte and the interview I mentioned
on January 18. Sometimes, Whye's writing is too abstract for me—even
the paragraph above is somewhat abstract, but it touched me as it seemed to
explain something I've thought about from time to time. In 2003, I
hiked the
Camino de Santiago
in Spain for the first time, a hike of approximately 450 miles. When
I came home, I could only say, “It changed my wiring." Whyte comes
closer to explaining what happened. For five weeks I walked and
absorbed the landscape. Much was beautiful and vast. It was
almost 14 years ago and it still makes me happy to think about it. I
started to add, “but Whyte isn't talking about happiness.” He is
going deeper than happiness. He includes loss and sorrow as well. True, but
often, happiness is a bonus.
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