'Seeing' Perfection... Part 1

Seeing Perfection

  

Conviction, as the sun sets in the West, we humans seem willing to hold dear to the inherent righteousness of acquired knowledge. Who among us would be brave enough to speculate whether one plus one amounts to two. 

The River of Knowledge:

Would we be wrong to assume the process of ageing translates into a heightened sense of conviction in the things we believe to be true? Yet, the older I get the more deeply humbled I am to realise conviction in my belief structure exists as a spiralling state of diminishing returns. 

The process of slowly accepting my infinite ignorance reminds me of the path a river takes to the ocean. Tumultuous in its youth, the river brashly pushes aside all obstacles. Crystal-clear icy mountain waters run wild, untamed as if certain of the charted path. The river bed, like the unbridled waterway, is rocky, unyielding, and nearly impenetrable.

Equally unyielding was my youthful perspective on knowledge. Brash, confident, senselessly assuring whoever might listen that my truth certainly was a fact.   

Time has a way of encouraging all rivers to eventually accommodate the very obstacles they once hastily obliterated. Clear tumultuous waters become opaque as the soil of a supple river bottom blends with slowly moving currents. Peacefully, the old river eventually abandons its steely path. Gracefully, the river snakes through marshy floodplains prior to arriving at the ocean where it discovers an unfathomable singularity of being.

Presently, my relationship with knowledge has been turned on its head so many times, that I feel caught in a blender. Absolutes, which I once considered irrefutable, have now transitioned into a sloppy glob of philosophic grey matter. Like the river, I too have been transformed by time. My truth, once crystal clear, is now cloudy, uncertain, opaque.   

Discovering how little I know has left me holding an empirical bag of nothingness. The conviction itself, in my mind at least, seems to have died the death of a thousand cuts. Slowly, I have been forced to accept the realisation there is absolutely nothing of which I am unequivocally confident.

For example, if existence is a singularity, then can we not argue how one plus one must equal one? There was a time, not long past when I whittled down my sense of truth to one single defensible fact.

I do exist!

The fact I exist seemed a valuable tidbit of knowledge upon which I could hang my hat.

However, standing in the shower this morning I pondered my existence. I wondered if life is an eternal holographic illusion, is there ever a point of nonexistence? Without a reference for non-existence can we not assume our conceptualisation of existence, at best, remains flawed. 

After all, if we have no contrast for the position of existence then do we really exist? 

Or, is it possible existence is the singular de-facto expression of Divinity? 

The question begging to be asked is, does Divinity have an off switch?

The Upanishads, the Gita, quantum physics, as well countless spiritual or philosophical offerings maintain life, in the form of consciousness, is eternal. Our sense of reality, as well as our use of language, are both predicated upon contrast. Hot offers up cold as its companion. Up relies upon down to give it a sense of meaningfulness. With this logistical measuring stick might we reasonably suggest existence gains experiential credibility only if it can be weighed against the state of non-existence. If we further argue death to be an illusion, then what meaning does the definition of existence offer? 

Ergo, do I really exist?

Hmmmm.

I digress, however, I do so with just cause. In this essay, I wish to position an argument that asks you to consider the possibility that all manifest reality exists in a state of absolute perfection. Surely, the mere thought of such an inane statement must cause the hackles upon your neck to excite. After all, to name just a few obvious moments of imperfection we need only consider the tragedy of rape, starvation, or war.  

Tumbling down the imminent philosophical river ahead, prior to our launching over the falls, I think it was worthwhile to emphasize my great wealth of ignorance. Perhaps, if we both accept my limitations of intelligence then we might dispatch with the need for either of us to be right. Possibly, if you embrace this philosophical journey as if it were a movie or TV show you might find it easier to consider the perfection argument in the absence of judgment.

Herein, appropriately applied, is the quote from Sergeant Schultz of Hogan's Heroes. 

"I know nothing!"  

Seeing Imperfection:

When discussing with friends the philosophical position of absolute perfection the question I hear most often is as follows. What aspect of global starvation could possibly be considered perfect? Fortunately, in support of my rebuttal, I have suffered through a very compelling experience from which I could draw upon.     

Crossing the African continent by bicycle heaved upon my psyche some of the most unbearable experiences imaginable. Communing with people who were starving to death brought me face-to-face with arguably the greatest injustice of present-day society. Years later, having learned of the global scope of this tragedy, I could not help but suffer under the grotesquely stark realisation that over one-eighth of humanity is slated to die of starvation.

As if it were yesterday, I recall a young African boy whom I befriended. Our friendship sprouted in the tiny Algerian village of Assamakka. Proximal to the Niger border, Assamakka proved a desolate locale in which residents most often struggled to exist. Winter in the Saharan desert is bleak, barren, and relentless. By day everything cooked under the torment of a draining sun; winter evenings referenced single-digit temperatures freezing the desert floor. Perhaps there were thirty huts making up the dishevelled community of roughly one hundred residents. Directly in the centre of the village, a small hut opened to a restaurant seating area that could accommodate nigh on twenty-five patrons. 

Seated upon the six, sun-washed, picnic tables were mostly portly Europeans. Some patrons were part of a caravan group, whilst others were driving personal vehicles with two or three individuals. All patrons entertained the common goal of charting an exploratory path across the golden sands. Hoping to gain a reprieve from a relentlessly scalding sun, everyone was taking refuge under the makeshift burlap canopy of the wind-worn, decrepit diner. We travellers all were awaiting border clearance prior to continuing the trek to the Nigerian gateway to the coveted Ivory Coast. Some explorers, like myself, envisioned destinations further afoot. 

The tableau of patrons reminded me of clean, fattened, grunting hogs. Oftentimes, a din of excited chit-chat accompanied the sounds of careless diners hastily gulping plates of hearty stew. Mama's cauldrons belched out a strange aroma from a few feet distant. Closing out the imagery, bottles of pop or beer adorned the wooden tables. Vessels of life sweating liquid gold at the behest of a sweltering sun. 

Witnessing the oft-repeated scene of heaving bowls accompanied by chilled beverages must have proven an eternally exasperating tease for local residents. I felt crestfallen for the impoverished African souls who stood or sat motionless at the sidelines of our collective prosperity.

Transfixed by a desperate desire, through dark black eyes, locals stared at the dripping beverages. Unconsciously licking chapped lips, these poor voyeurs undoubtedly imagined the cool liquid caressing their tongue before falling blissfully into their empty abyss. Sumptuous treats purveying sights and smells that likely would never pass the wanting gullet of desperate Africans. 

Dogs, ribs protruding through matted coats, rounded out the vignette. Scavenging tidbits of fat, gristle, or rotten potato carelessly flung toward salivating jaws, the dogs propped on haunches excited by every movement. Challenging the beasts for scraps were blackened children who, at times, were accompanied by the odd gnarled old man fortunate enough to have survived the ripe old age of thirty. 

Maintaining order in the open-air restaurant was left to the brawny man Mama had hired. He was a sturdy young guard who, very seriously, entertained the charge of keeping famished dogs or untoward residents at bay. When the animals neared, he impassioned a flick with his stick as if they were flies. Unfortunately for the children, who were inevitably slower to react than dogs, the smart end of the guard's malicious stick often left a recognisable welt.

Mama knew how important it was to prevent the tourists from being pestered by salivating dogs or grotesque-looking beggars. Regardless of Mama's resolve for order, many of the fat, pig-like, tourists squealed in disgust at having to observe the ritualistic administration of Saharan justice. Most travellers passing through Assamakka were upset if they could not get out of the village within a few hours. The optimal visit routine for travellers involved a quick bite while the passports were stamped. Soon after their meal, they all hoped to quickly get the hell out of town. 

By the time I arrived at the village, I was weary from pushing my bicycle across what seemed an endless expanse of sand dunes. With energy reserves totally depleted, I decided to stay a week in hopes of regaining the strength needed to navigate the balance of the Saharan desert. With a broken heart, I witnessed the forlorn eyes of beasts and humans as they mentally savaged fresh food and drink. Their state of utter depravity, starkly contrasted by the intermittent disgust or repulsion from opulent tourists, left me with mental scars that took years to heal. Scenes as such soon proved almost impossible to endure. 

During my stay, I spent time talking to some of the locals who were nearing death. I tried to feed them what I could manage. However, for the most part, those nearest to death could not muster the energy to talk or eat. One boy proved an interminable burden upon my sanity. I had to stick the food in his mouth, and then patiently assist him as, together, we worked his jaw up and down. Too weak to talk, a challenge to even hold the tin cup of water I proffered a few times daily. 

Every waking moment, the boy sat next to what I assumed was the family hut. Chased by the sun, he would navigate a path around the tiny thatch, mud and cardboard structure. The irony proved hard to miss; our sun, the greatest galactic power, directly impacted each moment of this excruciatingly feeble little teenager's existence. By night's end, the brave young lad would vanish only to reappear with the break of each new morning. As near as I could tell, this was the full extent of life for the emaciated young fellow.

I remember thinking of a friend from my hometown who was miffed because the graduation gift his dad gave him was what he described as "a cheap used car". 

Late one morning, five days into our ritualistic feeding ordeal, I approached the hut with a cup in hand. Bread protruding from my breast pocket I walked around to the back of his hut where I fully expected to discover him curled up in the shade. This sweltering morning he never managed to complete the circuit of his hut. Just before my arrival to his hut, the young boy had been found dead. Flies swarming his cold contorted body, mouth agape, black eyes wide open. Twisted by the morbidity of the day, each night I would struggle to sleep. Sights and sounds of village life played over in my mind, an earwig drilling into my head. Tears rolled down my cheeks readily as each desperate day crashed into another vile rendition of Saharan survival.   

Relaxing back in your leather Ottoman recliner possibly you could relieve yourself of the television remote long enough to consider, as I have, the voice of imperfection. Possibly, you might regale me with a story about rape, murder, the destroyed planet, greed, or any of a long laundry list of grievances that cause you to pause. Simply stated we humans are eternal judges, therefore, it should prove quite easy to find a subject matter which repulses your sense of equanimity. Fodder aplenty for insisting my concept of manifest perfection is ludicrous. 

For most of us, certainly speaking for ourselves, daily we privately or verbally express a dislike of something. From the moment I wake, I enjoy my coffee a certain way. Checking the sports page, I am happier to see my favourite team has won. Without doubt or hesitation, I will always admit a great dislike of Brussels sprouts. Trivial things do tend to pick at me.

Like a crow testing carrion, I sample my world slowly before taking each bite. Looking past the banality of preference, when confronted by injustice smashing the barriers of social common sense I am inevitably stopped dead in my tracks by the stench of injustice. Starvation, rape, murder, and the bevvy of heinous acts cause many to utter the oft-heard query.

"If there really is a God, then how could this event be allowed to happen?"

Walking down the road which is my life, the cruel world quite often yanks wildly at my tender heartstrings. Countless tears rendered at the hand of far too many visceral experiences induced by horrible nightmares which, miraculously, came to life. Yet today, as I pen this short essay, I notice how the tumbling decades of spiritual growth have enabled me to develop a significantly different approach to the mad hatter rendition of the world I daily witness.

Observing the opinions of great sages, as well as bearing witness to my own life experiences, I offer you philosophical tidbits that may prove worthy of your review. Possibly you might latch upon some of these considerations thereby availing yourself of the ointments I use to soothe my aching heart.

More likely the case, the argument I offer might encourage you to think of me as the owner of a cold heart. In turn, you label me foolish, abstract, a man lacking the emotional carriage needed to care for those who suffer. Painting a vision of absolute perfection, I intend to dip my pen in a philosophical pot to investigate: choice, preference, duality, unity consciousness, illusion, the EgoSelf, and impeccability. With each point of reference, I hope to view through the rarely used lens of DivineSelf living.

Perhaps, with your indulgence, we might commence the argument for perfection with a curious review of how the act of choice might be seen from a DivineSelf perspective. 

Choice:

Based upon personal preferences we casually, even subconsciously, affect oodles of choices during the expanse of each day. Considering the seemingly infinite collection of decisions we make it is reasonable to assume, more than anything, choice constitutes the heat responsible for forging the blade we call the self. Endlessly before us the proverbial road branches into two. Then, based on our collective experience, we select the path most in tune with what we believe to be an apropos selection.

For the most part, few of us take a moment to consider whether we are the sole captain of this ship of endless choice. After all, observing our life as it unfolds, our five senses convince us it would be silly to, even remotely, consider the choices we make are not entirely of our own volition.

Any attempt to separate choice from self-determination will certainly invoke within you a sense of betrayal. Further to the point, for most people, stepping into the concept of divine determination is akin to driving the car from within the confines of a locked trunk. 

It makes absolutely no sense!

However insane as it may be to consider one’s life has been preordained, there are solid arguments that can bolster this, somewhat awkward, philosophical position. The first posit one might consider is what I would deem collective programming. The next time you make a choice, small or involved, ask yourself the following. 

What is the impetus behind this decision?

Your knee-jerk answer might be. "Well, this is what I wanted. Obviously, my choices reflect my preferences. Therefore, I am the only one responsible for choosing any given path!" To this assertion, I would counter.

Dig deeper, what is the base root of your preference?

Tracing back our singular decisions to their ultimate source, we absolutely must arrive at one undeniable conclusion. The collective experience of our lives leads us to each and every choice we make. Without reflecting upon causality we very well might experience choice as the sole function of personal preference. However, when peeling the onion of choice to its core, we discover historical markers which did indeed prompt my selection to place an apple in my lunchbox juxtaposed to cabbage or a lump of coal.

Accepting choice is a direct function of one's collective history, we are then compelled to investigate the origins of our past. More to the point, have other chefs conspired to create the choices we believe were solely our own. Perhaps, we might be well-served to consider the following queries.

What life experience would push us toward murder, rape, or similar acts we deem horrific?

How much ownership of evil deeds do we assign to the rapist who himself was repeatedly and viciously raped by his father or priest?

Thinking of the extreme has a way of causing us to pause. Trains of thought, placing us fittingly in our brethren's shoes, beg us to consider how far removed we are from those who commit unthinkable atrocities? Good fortune does have a way of breeding within us a contemptuous position. However forceful is a tragedy, we need not dwell upon the bizarre to follow this thread of disowning choice.

From simple choices, like a preference for apples, to the ultimate expression of murder all choice is derived from the collective experience of our personal journey.

Who is the creator of our path? 

Who has selected the ingredients compiling the composite that we seem so quick to claim our own? 

When we lay in judgment by accrediting another person's choice as repugnant, have we considered their historical composite? 

Most psychologists agree, more than anything, it is the first five years of our lives that impact our personality. Can we not logically then argue that the choices any adult makes are significantly impacted by the brushstrokes of their developmental years. With great, dedicated effort, we can change the landscape of our persona. The braggart can become humble, the thief can turn into a philanthropist, and the liar can learn to speak only the truth. Surely we can appreciate how significant fortitude is required to alter the road paved by childhood development.

More often than not, the boy does design the man.

Aside from the first five years of our life what effects do: media, school, friends, parents, family, peer pressure, heroes, religion, movie stars, and idols have upon the decisions or preferences we were so quick to claim entirely our own?

Take a moment to consider the effects of the many pervasive influences initiated by circumstances well beyond our control. Surely our world is responsible for, at the very least, framing the choices we might have considered our exclusive domain.     

Stepping back from the assumption we entirely own the choices we make. How much do you now think our choices are affected by others? If circumstances were a little crueler can you see how you could have been the starving Niger teenager? Perhaps your path leads you to randomly kill innocent civilians from a hotel window.

Truly, how far removed are we from those we scorn?

Taking the subject of choice to its conclusion, we easily understand how most philosophers believe the act of choice is merely an illusion. Credence can be then given to the ideology which suggests we each follow a preordained path. The location in the world where you were born, the position of the stars when you took the first breath, and the parents who brought you into this reality, these are the cornerstones that contrive to enable your personal choice.

Building blocks of you, framed by countless foreign influences, create the image you see staring back from a misty bathroom mirror. Beyond your control, the real you indeed proved a fabricated entity. 

How does this consideration of causality affect your sense of choice?

Moving beyond the ownership of choice, we humans believe the world happens 'to' us. The evidence of our life unfolding in linear time convinces us we react to the events which shape our lives. Most great sages believe exactly the opposite is true.

For example, a driver runs a red light in doing so slams into your vehicle. Observing the evidence. Speaking with friends, officials, or family, everyone agrees the event was the sole responsibility of the careless driver.

It behoves us to ask, is this the ultimate reality of the event in question? Or could another position be considered?

Could it be possible we were equally complicit in forging the incident? Perhaps, deep reflection might cause us to accept we invited this event into the realm of our experience. Moreover,  can we at least agree that we co-created the event? Divine energy dancing with its partner in the absence of judgment.

Speaking to this conundrum of apparent causal choice in contrast to divine fate I believe choice, like so many other aspects of physical reality, exists in two dimensions. The great Don Juan Matus coined these two planes as separate realities. The esoteric reality, which he called the 'nagual', represents what I consider the DivineSelf expression. Conversely, reality as defined by the filter of EgoSelf, which Don Juan Matus described as the 'tonal' expression, represents the lie we convince ourselves is truth.

Choice, from a tonal perspective, is affirmed by our five senses. The same choice, experienced as a function of the nagual, requires a much deeper level of spiritual consideration. Further illustrating the difference between tonal and nagual, we can then account for the traffic accident event from two separate perspectives.

The careless driver runs a red light and then crashes into us. From a tonal vantage point, we have exercised absolutely no choice in this event. Because of this limited purview of the incident, the blame is cast entirely upon the careless driver. The tonal reflection of the event seen only from the five senses with this limited purview causality is all that we considered.

The nagual vision of the event seeks to delve deeper than the physical plane of causality. Nagual perspectives ask us to see how the DivineSelf expression is ultimately responsible for the collision. This odd conclusion offers us an esoteric perspective thereby teaching how, aside from the physical evidence we see, the Divine Self is the singular creator of all reality. In the light of nagual, we do not seek to cast blame. Instead of baseless emotions like anger, blame, and revenge, the nagual vision encourages us to accept, embrace, and learn, moreover to stop judging our brethren for the circumstances which befall us. 

Capturing the nagual in day-to-day experiences encourages us to seek deeper, occulted, meaning to the events of our life. Discover the silent energy which flows beneath the surface of your physical world. Closely examine your reality with nagual eyes. Looking at nagual reality we easily grasp another argument for preordained existence.

Speaking with my lovely friend Shannon about this subject last night, I realised the importance of separating reality into these two aspects of perception. Being accustomed to looking at reality from both a physical and subtle plain I had forgotten how the subject of divine destiny leads one to posit the following query.

If our life is preordained, then what is the purpose of living?

I understand your reticence to embrace the nagual. The image of a life preordained can easily cause one to feel powerless, and futile. No one wants to lay the groundwork implying reality is somehow a pointless endeavour. Countering these sentiments, I suggest the daily choices we make are indeed important as they do offer up a unique flavour to our destiny. 

Each choice is valuable, each choice makes our journey uniquely special. Our choices tell the world, this is who I am, these are my values, and this is my personal statement. What might be hard to grasp is how the choices we make can both represent our uniqueness while still being divinely inspired, perhaps even preordained.

The tonal and nagual are not incompatible. Quite the opposite, they become deeply integrated by the function of choice. Yes, indeed our choices are very important as they reflect the essence of our hearts. Few people see beyond causality, some see the power of intention, but rarely do any of us look deep enough to embrace the DivineSelf creative power of divine manifestation.

Perhaps, an example of a river might help illustrate my point. Upon our planet, there are millions of rivers small and large, fast or slow, deep or shallow. What if the Englishman river, flowing past my door, hosts the journey of a thousand lives. If my life path were to follow the Englishman from source to ocean then, one could say, the ultimate Oceanic destination would represent my nagual existence. The river current would act out the role of destiny even though its influence would be hidden from my senses. If I truly embraced the nagual I might even take into consideration the tidal pull of the moon as it affects the ocean I am travelling toward.

Regardless of whether or not I am aware of the current or the moon, my journey will ultimately lead to a preordained destination, the ocean.

Floating down the river, carried by an unseen nagual current, I might 'choose' to paddle over to the bank, and spread a little love with the fishes or insects. Possibly, I might 'choose' to hang out behind an old stump to enjoy a chat with a frog. Whatever my destiny might entail I am the one who decided the nature of my own trip.

Another who travels the same river might have an identical destination as I. Yet, through the vehicle of choice, she will entertain entirely different experiences as her unique journey unfolds. We each are beautiful snowflakes; no two of us are similar. Within the 'tonal' expression the beautiful choices I make will give my life meaning as well as a sense of personal ownership.

From the tonal viewpoint, the choice is very real. Accordingly, choice carries significant meaning as we experience the events of our lives. The preordained current of the nagual represents the ultimate DivineSelf experience. Reflecting upon the perfection of Divinity, we dilute the perception of choice, we temper its power by realising destiny may very well be discovered sitting behind the wheel. 

       

The subject of choice, in tandem with a divine destiny, can help us rationalise all experiential reality as perfection. Simply stated, Divinity does not make mistakes. If we accept each life will follow a preordained path, then possibly we can exercise a little compassion when faced with the many, uncomfortable, choices made by our dear brethren. 

When we embrace nagual living we find in our heart both fertilizer and space for compassion to grow. Often, I call the nagual experience 'My seat on the bus.' Our world, in my view, is an endless dance of dualistic energy. Whereby, when holding firmly to the nagual perspective, reality must embrace all aspects of duality for it to unfold. All manifest reality is therefore seen as a function of divinity. Logic would then suggest all reality must be loved unconditionally. Perhaps this lesson bears the greatest fruit in allowing us to love the one we judge most harshly, the self. 

Looking at reality, I cannot help but feel each seat on the bus is sacred each choice divine, each action a tremendously beautiful dance of contrasting energy. 

Within the framework of nagual thinking, the next time someone or something irks me, relief may be found in honouring all choices as a direct function of alternative actualization. Possibly, the next time I feel the urge to cast blame, I might consider the nagual. After all, the nagual approach would have me 'see' how you wrote the entire script which is my reality. I am the author, the stage, the actor. Even when a car slams into my world I can 'see' my energy was meant to dance with the energy of the other driver. 

In the eternal ocean of duality-consciousness, the car crash event can be viewed as another amazing moment of divinity. Within the divine nagual framework, the car crash was no accident.

Preference:

Observing, as well as acting upon, our personal preferences enable the uniqueness of individuality. Humanity expressed as a bland soup of peoples conforming to a singular script would surely leave us quickly reaching for the spice of nonconformity. Freedom of expression, propelled by the horsepower of preference innovates the interests of science, the arts, manufacturing, as well as countless other aspects of civilization. Cherishing preference, in the light of an upwardly mobile society, we certainly would not wish to curtail its role in human development.

However, is it possible, that preference might play a pivotal role in humanity perceiving reality as imperfect?   

Whatever we see as separate from self initiates within our psyche a process identifying preference. Every minuscule fragment of our consciousness is sorted, labelled, and then measured on an invisible scale of perceived value. Our character reflects itself as an ever-fluid composite of preferences.

Demands we covet will be fulfilled or denied. In-kind, a gap between desire and reality unfolds. The greater the gap, the more angst you feed the pain-body of nonfulfillment. In this light, imperfection appears as an obvious function of one's expressed reality. Casting the net of individual preference we tend to reach far beyond our limited capacity to control an expansive environment. The potency of this truth is illustrated by the massive canyon stretching between the world we wish to experience juxtaposed to the world we daily witness.

From the grandest scale of desiring global peace to the small irksome annoyance of sitting proximal to a colicky child on a transcontinental flight, desired reality crashes into expressed reality. Neither experience is ultimately within our control, yet, both are likely to elicit angst.

We all can relate to the disconnected feelings to which I refer. The need to be right as an argument with your partner unfolds. Your boss screaming at you just because she is having a tough day. The driver who cuts you off in heavy traffic then gives you the finger. Watching the latest horrific event unfold on the big screen. Sickening feelings you get when rape or murder knocks upon a door you deem too close to home.

Endless tragedy, abuse, misuse, ignorance, and hate, squeeze out of society like puss oozing from a freshly lanced boil. 

Events that make you want to scream, cringe, or cry. Frustration without hobble is force-fed to you while society is more concerned with Hollywood gossip than righting global scales of injustice. Fears of a world in distress, animals dying, the globe straining under blender blades of corporate greed or executive malfeasance.

The list of grievances seems endless. The gulf between your sense of right and the inevitable execution of wrong becomes insurmountable. Preference seems a justified tool for weeding humanity's garden. Perturbed but not defeated, we try our darnedest to deal with the injustices of the true human condition. 

Witnessing the void between personal preference and the events of our life we cannot help but realise it is the act of projecting our personal preference out into the world which causes within us anger, judgment, and ultimately grief.

If never exposed to the outer world then the preferences we hold dear would never be challenged. However, being a hermit is not why we exist. I believe it is important to love, share, and then rejoice in the uniqueness of our brethren. Unfortunately, the moment we entertain anything of foreign origin, we set ourselves up for disappointment, heartache, and incompatibility.

Capitalizing upon our ability to manage the gap between desire and reality is something very few of us meet with success. Often, we feel offended by a life experience that abjectly fails to adequately conform to our expectation of fairness. Realistically, no single person can feed all the starving souls. Yet, our incapacity to correct our perceived injustice of starvation does little to alleviate the pain we feel when standing proximal to a starving child.

Surely each of us suffers as we navigate, or attempt to accept, the chasm between reality and our vision of the perfect world. Who, in the absence of rose-tinted glasses, would begin to suggest the world we live in is already perfect? Even broaching the topic leaves one open to being accused of soaking their mind in Pollyanna bathwater.

For many years I battled the illusion of imperfection with little success. Always there were nagging thoughts, feelings, and emotions compelling me to wish for a better world. Regardless of how these painful views contrasted with my quickly advancing philosophy, I seemed firmly glued to the notion humanity held great room for improvement. After all, the grievance is easy to conjure in light of an immense tidal wave of injustice.

Spiritually leaping, like a stallion, toward the beauty of unity consciousness did little to relieve my grief. More the case, esoteric truths only heightened the gap between my brethren and myself. Spiritual knowledge, at times, left me feeling guilty for being wrapped in a warm blanket of philosophy. Inevitably, the more my philosophy flowered the more I was compelled to make a difference and change the world or people's viewpoints. 

My role seemed to educate the ignorant, preach to the unconverted, and save those who might still be choosing fear over love.

What a slippery, self-righteous, slope I travelled. In time, much further up the spiritual mountain, I received guidance from some wonderful texts. To name a few: Tao Te Ching, The Gnostic texts, The Bhagavad Gita, The Upanishads, and above all my favourite source of truth, Don Juan Matus. Where would I be without Castaneda's beautiful books? Perhaps the one golden thread that spun through each of Castaneda's books was the concept of absolute acceptance. Life, in the absence of manufactured drama, is a beautiful gift.

The Tao offers the peaceful image of a leaf floating effortlessly upon the river. Symbolic metaphors are used to represent the personification of steadfast acceptance. The Gnostic texts taught, that no one entity, nor event, is greater nor lesser than another. The Gita reminded me, that reality is a singularity known as Divinity. Together, these golden threads of esoteric gnosis allowed me to understand Don Juan's sense of 'seeing' as it relates to what he termed the tonal of controlled folly.

Tonal versus Nagual / Thinking versus Seeing:

Instead of paraphrasing someone who stood so much taller than me, it is best to quote his words. It should be noted, that Castaneda together with Don Juan discussed this matter over a few pages in the book 'A Separate Reality'. Herein, I have included only a few key excerpts from the lengthy conversation. Undoubtedly, it is worth reading the entire exchange starting on page 78.

"My acts are sincere, but they are only the acts of an actor."

"Certain things in your life matter to you because they are important; your acts are certainly important to you, but for me, not a single thing is important any longer, neither my acts nor the acts of any of my fellow men. I go on living, though, because I have my will. Because I have tempered my will throughout my life until it's neat and wholesome and now it doesn't matter to me that nothing matters. My will controls the folly of my life."

"You believe that because you're thinking, you're thinking about life, you're not 'seeing'. Once a man learns to 'see' he finds himself alone in the world with nothing but folly. Your acts, as well as the acts of your fellow men in general, appear to be important to you because you have 'learned' to think they are important."

"We 'learn' to think about everything, then, we train our eyes to look as we think about the things we look at. We look at ourselves already thinking that we are important. And therefore, we've got to feel important. But then when a man learns to 'see', he realises he can no longer think about the things he looks at, and if he cannot think about what he looks at everything becomes unimportant."

"Everything is equal and therefore unimportant. For example, there is no way for me to say my acts are more important than yours, or that one thing is more essential than another, therefore all things are equal and by being equal they are unimportant."

"Controlled folly is very much like 'seeing' it is something you cannot think about."

The gist of these quotes, as I see it, offers a somewhat complex but plump store of usable observations.

We are each actors believing our body to be physically 'real'. However, in both scientific as well as esoteric truths, we are holographic in nature. Our sense of reality, like our body, appears to be real. Even though we know this reality is, as Einstein stated, a very convincing illusion, we can't help but buy into the dreamlike fantasy.

We view our life journey as a collection of events, all of which we believe carry significant value. From our limited experience of reality, the inherent 'importance' of our existence appears as a quantifiable asset. Yet, from the perspective of someone who can 'see', there is no individuality. Simply stated we, as well as our collective actions, are 'unimportant'.

To 'see' is to understand all manifest reality is equally magnificent, equally 'important'. With all reality being considered equal, no one choice, person, or event takes precedence over another.

Ergo, as Don Juan intones, every person and action is unimportant. This evaluation of importance is absolutely absent from any sense of worth. Quite the contrary, Don Juan suggests his choices are unimportant because all choices are beautifully divine, extremely worthwhile, and equal in nature. Preference, in this light, has no basis for consideration. Judgment, the companion of preference, is released by the seer. 

Choosing to afford equal value to all manifest reality, we then approach the truth Don Juan offers when he states, "Everything becomes neat and wholesome". Tidied up to the point where it matters not that our actions are unimportant or even that we, by extension, are unimportant. If anything, our unimportant self should give us a sense of pride and even invoke feelings of self-love. 

Surely we could all benefit from a little more self-love. 

Confronted with this beautiful esoteric knowledge many people, as did the author Castaneda, feel offended. Typically, we each want to feel important. Understandably, when someone even remotely suggests you are unimportant, alarm bells sound.

What do you mean, I am unimportant? 

This cannot be!

To observe the 'seeing' (nagual) voice of DivineSelf, we first must relinquish the 'thinking' (tonal) voice of EgoSelf. When we open up to the 'nagual' a clear truth rings from within. This embrace of the Divine Self is what Don Juan calls 'seeing'.

We 'see' when we begin to understand why the EgoSelf filter is an illusion. The warrior who chooses to 'see' accepts he/she is alone in an ocean of people who are instead choosing to only 'think'. Therefore, to answer the concerns of those who feel offended by the concept of being unimportant, one needs to merely 'see' their way toward the ultimate truth. The road of seeing will always lead to indescribable beauty and absolute equanimity. Many would call this 'seeing' unconditional love.

Nothing is important to the person who 'sees' a world where absolutely everything is and always will be entirely divine. This valuable piece of knowledge allows us to stop projecting a false sense of right versus wrong, good versus bad. Additionally, we determine how silly our preference for a better world is to somehow magically appear. Magic is found in the eye of the beholder who tweaks their view of reality so they might 'see'.

WOW!

There never was a gulf between my false sense of a perfect reality and the world before me. With the nagual lens in place, all manifest reality always exists in a state of absolute perfection. Finally, I knew nothing needed to be improved upon. Choosing to filter reality through my EgoSelf 'thoughts', instead of my DivineSelf ability to 'see', had kept the truth of perfection completely hidden from view. 

Freedom, at last!

Freedom, in so many ways, proved a beautifully valuable gift. No longer did I suffer under the EgoSelf illusion of imperfection. The starving child, the murderous fiend, as well countless events small or large which I had once judged as distasteful were now merely representations of preferences. The dark energy I held for so long could now be bathed in love, and unconditional acceptance could be embraced.  

This, in no way, means I have absolute peace from the perceived gap between my experience of reality and the daily events of my life. Goodness gracious, I'm not that smart, nor am I so swift to accommodate truth. Yet, the nagual/tonal philosophy did offer a usable anchor upon which I could gain respite from the chaos created by my 'thinking' mind.     

Preferences, causing grief, imbalance, ignorance, and malcontent in my life, are no more real than the life of a stage actor. All manifest reality is, was, and always will be, absolute perfection. The great takehome from owning this truth is obvious but well worth remembering.

Take a quick moment, and ask yourself how this philosophical position can empower your life?

Preference, along with all the acts we people manage to eventualities, becomes unimportant in the light of knowing every moment of consciousness is always equally perfect.
Applying this nagual knowledge to the tonal world we inhabit, we soon determine childish 'thinking' promotes hope for a better world. As the great Don Juan would remind us, one cannot 'think' their way toward perfection, you must 'see' it.

With the ability to 'see', we realise how 'unimportant' everything has become. The pressure to fix or improve our world fades. No longer is there a gulf between the world we want juxtaposing to the world we experience daily. Darkness within, which may have appeared as an insurmountable chasm, has been miraculously transformed by the alchemy of unconditional 'nagual' love. Indeed, love conquers all which ails us. 

Beautiful is this lesson for promoting peace of mind, contentment, and even laughter as we contemplate the simplicity of applying love.

Hubris and false logic led me to support the belief we should all strive to make the world a better place. For many years I was irked knowing this belief structure was not in accord with my core philosophy of unity consciousness. However, try as I might, I was trapped by too many African nightmares, and too much drama. Then Don Juan's descriptions of 'seeing' and 'thinking', as it relates to controlled folly, bashed open the doors of psychological emancipation.

Finally, I was free from the cancerous angst associated with constantly wishing for the injustices of the world to be magically solved. Knowing everything is unimportant, as only the 'seer' can envision, led me to freedom. In a world where everything is Divinity, it is only logical to see perfection is indeed found everywhere we look. 

What a simple, but serendipitous lifeboat floating in a sea of emotional despair.

The twisty journey this has been s us tugging upon the philosophical thread of preference. In so doing, we seek unconditional love. The great Don Juan led me to uncover the illusion of imperfection. Many amazing teachers, incredible books, and dreamy philosophies augmented the teaching of Don Juan, yet none etched as deep an impression nor yielded as consoling an emotional balm. 

  

Certainly, no one could argue the world could benefit from some cleaning. Undoubtedly a little more love, peace, and compassion will always be welcome. However, when we look a little closer at the world we deem imperfect, we soon discover ourselves caught in a very powerful illusion. Our preferences kept us from 'seeing' the singular truth that tells us, all manifest reality is Divinity. By extension, all which we 'think' is imperfection can, in the right light, be 'seen' as perfection. 

Undoubtedly, the next time a screaming baby intrudes upon your peace of mind when the driver smashes into your car, or the sniper kills randomly from a hotel room, I will certainly understand if you choose to 'think' about these events with the Ego instead of 'seeing' them from the eyes of Divinity. 

Truly, I do comprehend why you would fail to 'see' a perfect world. However, you might serve yourself well to imagine there does exist another point of 'you'. The beautiful DivineSelf you, perhaps the one who always 'sees' an absolutely perfect reality unfold. Unconditional love, in the absence of all judgment, devoid of all preferences can be your reality. 

Can you 'see' the ultimate perfection of reality?