Our real problems are almost entirely about us—about people.
What is weird about living is us. We’ve made the context—we’ve allowed it. And now the weirdness of us seems to have a life of its own. Such momentum seems difficult to break.
Our institutions don’t help—can’t help. As conceived, those things simply promote further separations between us.
There’s a problem here that money cannot seem to fix. After all, the only difference between knuckleheads with money and knuckleheads without money is the money.
There is a problem here that education cannot seem to fix. After all, the only difference between knuckleheads with an education and knuckleheads without an education is an education.
And while the solution does not involve anything that can be reduced to bumper-sticker philosophy either, I have a notion: Have you ever heard the silence? That’s the sound of existence before humans. It seems important just to know about that sound, much less to revel in it.
That sound is the essence of us—the oldness in us. It is a place from where we can safely begin our machinations. It is a place from which we can safely return from our machinations. That’s quite a change from basing our present machinations upon our past or future machinations.
There’s nothing wrong with history or goals. It can be good theater. Actually I think that is what our institutions are good for—theater. But the truth of us is not born in our theater. At best it is our theater that is supposed to point to our truth. It does of course, but not the one that is older than us. Our present theater points to our belief that our theater is us. It is not.
We are older than our theater. And we will have an economy, a purpose, a reason to live, and a reason to love, if we realize this. But those “reasons” will not be born in our machinations. Those “reasons” will not be born at all—they are, they always were, they always will be.
If we listen carefully, with our full attention, our theater set aside, we can hear the “reasons” for our being very clearly. We can always tell when we truly listen by the smile that emerges—that unfettered smile that reflects the essence of us long before “we” were.