Inner Emptiness: A Problem or a Goal?
Does anyone ever want to feel empty inside? It sounds like a ridiculous question.
We've all experienced those pangs within, and we don't ever want to go back there.
Who would willingly choose emptiness when life offers us boundless opportunities for fulfillment? So it's always a surprise to delve into traditional spiritual literature and discover that the saints of old positively craved emptiness.
Their spiritual practices aimed not to fulfill their inner passions, but to silence them through self-flagellation, fasting, and solitude.
Success was defined as a state of total detachment from the highs and lows of everyday life and love.
Today we shake our heads in disbelief that anyone would choose to live that way.
Or do we? It's true that spiritual practices have drastically changed--so much so that self-inflicted suffering is usually considered a sexual disorder rather than a pathway to spiritual growth.
But it's also true that we value a certain kind of inner emptiness just as much as our spiritual forebears did.
Think how often you hear the word "addiction" bandied about today, and think also of how much we venerate words like "balance" and "serenity.
" Healthy people don't have cravings and passions, and they don't carry things to extremes--or so we are endlessly told.
We're supposed to bounce back rapidly after a broken heart or the loss of a loved one.
The person who devotes hours, weeks, and years to an artistic or intellectual pursuit or an unconventional lifestyle is a ripe candidate for therapy--or so we think.
I'm not denying that genuine addiction is a very real problem for many people.
No intelligent person would take that position.
But it's also true that deep fulfillment in any arena requires time, energy, and (in many cases) money.
Truth to tell, it often looks like obsession or addiction.
In his book "Outliers," Malcolm Gladwell declares that it takes at least 10,000 hours to attain world-class status in a complex skill or advanced field of knowledge.
Hmmm: That works out to almost three hours a day, seven days a week, for more than nine years.
And so I'm wondering: Is it possible that the way we define mental health--a well-balanced life, no extremes, no excesses--is actually making us sick? To put it another way: Perhaps we need to redefine what it means to be healthy and alive.
Maybe we need be stop being so frightened by the rumblings in our souls and the crazy ideas in our heads.
Maybe we need to say NO to balance and serenity and YES to passionate living.
We've all experienced those pangs within, and we don't ever want to go back there.
Who would willingly choose emptiness when life offers us boundless opportunities for fulfillment? So it's always a surprise to delve into traditional spiritual literature and discover that the saints of old positively craved emptiness.
Their spiritual practices aimed not to fulfill their inner passions, but to silence them through self-flagellation, fasting, and solitude.
Success was defined as a state of total detachment from the highs and lows of everyday life and love.
Today we shake our heads in disbelief that anyone would choose to live that way.
Or do we? It's true that spiritual practices have drastically changed--so much so that self-inflicted suffering is usually considered a sexual disorder rather than a pathway to spiritual growth.
But it's also true that we value a certain kind of inner emptiness just as much as our spiritual forebears did.
Think how often you hear the word "addiction" bandied about today, and think also of how much we venerate words like "balance" and "serenity.
" Healthy people don't have cravings and passions, and they don't carry things to extremes--or so we are endlessly told.
We're supposed to bounce back rapidly after a broken heart or the loss of a loved one.
The person who devotes hours, weeks, and years to an artistic or intellectual pursuit or an unconventional lifestyle is a ripe candidate for therapy--or so we think.
I'm not denying that genuine addiction is a very real problem for many people.
No intelligent person would take that position.
But it's also true that deep fulfillment in any arena requires time, energy, and (in many cases) money.
Truth to tell, it often looks like obsession or addiction.
In his book "Outliers," Malcolm Gladwell declares that it takes at least 10,000 hours to attain world-class status in a complex skill or advanced field of knowledge.
Hmmm: That works out to almost three hours a day, seven days a week, for more than nine years.
And so I'm wondering: Is it possible that the way we define mental health--a well-balanced life, no extremes, no excesses--is actually making us sick? To put it another way: Perhaps we need to redefine what it means to be healthy and alive.
Maybe we need be stop being so frightened by the rumblings in our souls and the crazy ideas in our heads.
Maybe we need to say NO to balance and serenity and YES to passionate living.
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