David Diana

Drinking coffee with friends, I loved myself dearly. We all did really. We would talk for hours about the meaning of life, referencing Kierkegaard, Camus, Dostoevsky, or any number of courageous thinkers we admired. And I remember looking upon issue after issue with cool detachment as if I were a scientist observing what I saw from a microscope. We’d examine different schools of thought and discuss their positive points and subsequent weaknesses for hours on end. And while this experience was an important part of my personal development I must confess that today, I see it as an impediment to true knowing.

"I don’t give a damn for a man who can only spell a word one way.” – Mark Twain It’s easy to lionize art. The mere mention of it conjures up images of freedom and creativity. Science…not so much. And yet, both science and art are essential. Both give life to the other. Many moons ago, medieval mapmakers depicted dragons on the far edges of their maps. Hic sunt dracones (“Here be dragons!”), they warned. Now that’s one hell of a warning to stay within the lines!

Questioner: “Is not gradualness the law of life?” Maharaj: “Oh, no. The preparation alone is gradual, the change itself is sudden and complete. Gradual change does not take you to a new level… You need courage to let go.” Questioner: “But I need time to collect my courage…to ripen for action.” Maharaj: “The entire approach is wrong. Action delayed is action abandoned. There may be other chances for other actions, but the present moment is lost – irretrievably lost. All preparation is for the future – you cannot prepare for the present.”

“Forget your so-called principles, Diana!  Are you done complaining? Can we all move on with our lives now?” Ah…sweet adolescence.  I was exposed to some form of the message above on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis.  It was my reward for being both a high school senior and team captain. “Diana!  Your stubbornness makes you dumber by the minute.” “What is it, pride?  Why do that? Why not let it go?” “I don’t care what you think, Diana!  Close your mouth, open your eyes, and wake up.”

Seven years, swimming in visions of children at play. It’s a deafening preoccupation resulting from two boys, ages two and seven, who bound through our home with reckless abandon. Remember those moments when you were trapped within yourself? Filled with anxiety or rage, only to be shaken by the openness of a two-year old boy. You can see the universe within his eyes, as if you’re looking up at stars in the night sky. Whenever I see those big, soft eyes, I’m reminded of a passage from Rilke: “…But it feels its life as boundless,
unfathomable, and without regard
to its own condition: pure, like its outward gaze.
And where we see the future, it sees all time
and itself within all time, forever healed…”