One morning not so very long ago I awakened with the profound realization that I exist. It seems kind of laughable typing (and no doubt, reading) those words. But this ‘realization’ is one of the things that the mystics tell us we routinely overlook or altogether miss. It was absolutely jarring and I lay there for a long time simply reflecting on being.

You exist. And in and of itself, that is incredible. I mean, you don’t have to exist, do you? But you do and it’s absolutely remarkable if you take the time to really consider it.

We get all weak-kneed when we think about the chance of an ‘intelligent life form’ other than us in this vast cosmos. Yet why don’t we get weak-kneed about our own existence? The sentience, the sense of presence, of simply being aware can be absolutely mind-blowing. And throughout our lives we take it for granted. We’ll gasp over a mountaintop vista or island sunrise, but pay absolutely no heed to the awareness that makes such things possible.

If you didn’t exist what would become of the universe? Where does all of existence ‘go’ when you fall into sleep at night? The universe is predicated on your conscious awareness of it. Yet it’s also predicated on my existence. And that of the guy next door.

And this is what gets us into so much trouble, provokes so much anxiety and fear in the human mind. “I’m separate, alone.”

We develop concepts like ‘love’ and ‘commitment’ as much out of fear as attraction. Don’t leave me here by myself, tell me everything will be OK, hold my hand, touch me. Or we build walls to protect ourselves from the fear, from hurt, from any hint of the truth of our aloneness. Anyone with children has witnessed – and comforted against – such fears many, many times. Don’t imagine that these fears have left you, that in the wisdom of your adult years you’re over all that. It’s still there, manifesting itself in all kinds of subtle ways (emotional barriers, co-dependence, addictions, etc.).

We mourn the death of a loved one not so much for them as for us – at least the dead have (hopefully) got it all figured out. We’re still stuck here waiting our turn. And when our turn comes – assuming we’re given advanced warning – we ‘rage against the dying of the light’ until, at last, we ‘make peace’ with the inevitability of it, our mind placating itself with talk of God and angels and heaven, of the pre-deceased awaiting our ‘return home’ and so on. As with so much of our lives, we really haven’t a clue what we’re talking about but it rarely stops us from trying.

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