The Sublime Paradox of Existence

Songs of the human heart

There is a sublime paradox which lies at the root of all existence, be it our own or of another. It is the conundrum of how the infinite came to co-exist with the finite. How the Supreme came to be the Soul. We can never go around it because we cannot stand outside it. But, this is a problem born only in logic and nowhere else. In reality, it is not insurmountably difficult. For example, the distance between any two points, however close they are to each other, can be described as infinite because we can carve the line between these points into infinitesimal pieces. Yet, all it takes is an effortless step for us to move from one point to the other. In every step of our existence we cross the infinite. In every moment, we meet the eternal.

This is what the ancient sage sang in the joy of epiphany, “There is no finite. There is only the infinite. There is no death. There is only the timeless.” The real is the infinite, and the finite is the unreal, a fragment which appears as the opposite of Truth and yet is wholly derived from Truth, and resides within Truth. Maya is the term given to the incomprehensibility of how the finite came to arise from and exist within the infinite and how death came to live within immortality.

We have opposites in creation. There are positives and negatives, centripetal and centrifugal, and attractions and repulsions. There are men and women, black and white, good and bad, right and wrong, yin and yang, and humanity and divinity. They are mere labels. They are not explanations. They simply reveal that the world in its essence is a reconciliation of opposites. They act like the left and right hands of creation in opposing directions and yet in absolute harmony, like our two eyes which act in unison to reveal creation to us. These opposing principles are not trying to get the better of each other. If it were to be so, creation would be utter chaos. Neither is the universe under an arbitrary and self-serving martial law of a dictatorial creator. There is no force that can run amok and go its own wild way like an outlaw, breaking harmony with the rest of creation. Every force or energy always reverts to equilibrium.

There is a rhythmic dance in creation. Its underlying principle is unity, not opposition. This unity is the mystery of all mysteries. Its expression as multiplicity bewilders us. When at last we find the relation between the One and the many, we feel that we have arrived at Truth. We see that the truth of the world contradicts the truth from which the world arose. We understand that it is only the greatest of truths that can lend existence and provide home and sustenance for all other truths.

There is undoubtedly joy in discovering the truths of the world. The heart skips a beat and dances in joy when we witness the uniformity of laws across the universe and among the diversity of nature. But, when we stop at such laws as the final step of our search, we discover that it doesn’t even begin to emancipate our spirit. Knowledge may give satisfaction to the intellect, but it does not permeate our whole being. It only deadens in us the sense of the Infinite.

Laws of science set limits. They show whatever is a certain way can never be otherwise. They encapsulate larger truths which set us free from the bondage of memory and facts. A man does not need to remember all the things that fall back when thrown up. Instead, he can remember the law of gravitation. However, when we become intoxicated by the convenience of laws and preoccupied with the linkages of causality, we succumb to the tyranny of laws even while we escape the tyranny of facts. If we stop at this point, joy eludes us, for grammar is not and can never be literature. A poem may be bound by the laws of language but its joy is seen in its transcendence of laws. Laws may be its wings but its beauty lies in its spirit. Wings can carry us to freedom only if they don’t weigh us down.

The greatest Truth is that the whole world is a creation of joy. “From joy are born all creatures, by joy they are sustained, towards joy they progress, and into joy they enter,” sang the ancient bard upon a glimpse of the infinite.

In the outer world, mother nature presents one aspect, and in the inner world, our hearts, she presents an altogether different picture. A flower toils in the sun to bring forth fruit to serve the continuity of life. She labors her whole life to this end, only to shed her exquisite petals and yield her place to another at the end, compelled by a cruel economy that governs nature. Viewed from the outer, her life bears testimony to a view that necessity is the only reason nature moves and acts. Yes, in the great offices of nature, there are countless departments where endless work of creation goes on. The fine flower must toil and give clear accounts to them. And yet, when this same flower enters our vision, it ceases to be a laborer and transforms into an agent of beauty and joy. The same object that is the embodiment of endless activity reveals its true self as stillness and poise and transforms into beauty and peace within ourselves.

Science alerts us that we are mistaken. That the purpose of nature is nothing more than what is outwardly manifested. That the relationship between activity and beauty is all of our own making, self serving and imaginary. But, we know that we are not mistaken. Nature may have immense capacity to perform industrious work externally, but when she comes knocking on the doors to our hearts, she comes bearing an altogether different letter of introduction. On one side, we are slaves bound by mother nature’s laws. But, on another, she has endowed us with limitless freedom. It seems so wonderful that nature has these two antithetical aspects. One to bind and hold us enthralled by her laws, and another that sets us free. Contrary notes of necessity and joy emanate from the same names and forms in creation.

The Infinite Being of Nature has created a secret dwelling in our hearts where she comes and goes freely without any necessity or agenda whatsoever. It is where the fire of her being is transformed into the lamp of a temple. The din of her ceaseless factory is replaced by the music of the eternal. The iron chains of cause and effect become weightless in this dwelling, and the human heart begins to sound like the strings of a golden violin.