The cauldron of eternity
I am pleased to report two achievements of mine this past week.
For one, I boldly made the leap from the familiar embrace of traditional bound book I have been stubbornly clinging on to, to the digital realm of Kindle, finding to my amazement that the content could strike me as profoundly as they were read off real paper. And to top off my surprise, I was pleased to find myself able to navigate through pages more easily without the need to switch positions every so often to give my arms a rest and constantly adjusting the book to proper light in between the shifts.
My second achievement, and a much less daring one, was finishing the book.
I loved carrying with me multiple tales of vastly different characters across a stretched expanse of time and space. It felt as if I was following different journeys, each offering a unique world to explore.
I enjoyed the first-person narration and the intimate bond it provided me with the characters, many of whom I grew fond of, especially Shams, drawn to his forgiving, nonjudgmental and kind nature. However, I couldn’t help but puzzle over his unkindness towards Kimia, never understanding why someone so spiritually evolved would thoughtlessly, and perhaps selfishly, toy with the emotions of a pure soul like Kimia, ultimately subjecting her to a death from painful heartbreak. It makes me wonder if even the most enlightened among us must bear the weight of our own sins.
If I were to pinpoint a passage that struck me with most joy, it is the one I have pasted below. I marvel at the myriad layers it encompasses, and the depth of emotions it conveys. The highlighted section I have read over and over as it so delicately injects a dash of awareness into our actions. “The world is a huge cauldron and something big is cooking in it?…”
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“Ella NORTHAMPTON, JUNE 5, 2008 Beloved Aziz, In one of your earlier e-mails, you said the idea that we could control the course of our lives through rational choices was as absurd as a fish trying to control the ocean in which it swam. I thought about your next sentence a lot: “The idea of a Knowing Self has generated not only false expectations but also disappointments in places where life does not match our expectations.” And now it’s time for me to confess: I’m a bit of a control freak myself. At least that’s what people who know me best will tell you. Until recently I was a very strict mom. I had a lot of rules (and believe me, they’re not as nice as your Sufi rules!), and there was no bargaining with me. Once my eldest daughter accused me of adopting the strategy of a guerrilla. She said I dug into their lives and from my trench I tried to capture every errant thought or desire that they might have! Remember the song “Que Será, Será”? Well, I guess it has never been my song. “What will be, will be” has never sat right with me; I just can’t go with the flow. I know you’re a religious person, but I’m not. Though as a family we celebrate the Sabbath every so often, personally I don’t even remember the last time I prayed. (Oops, I do now. In my kitchen just two days ago, but that doesn’t count, because it was more like complaining to a higher Self.) There was a time back in college when I got hooked on Eastern spirituality and did some reading on Buddhism and Taoism. I had even made plans with an eccentric girlfriend to spend a month at an ashram in India, but that phase of my life didn’t last long. As inviting as the mystic teachings were, I thought they were too compliant and inapplicable to modern life. Since then I haven’t changed my mind. I hope my aversion to religion won’t offend you. Please see it as a confession long overdue from someone who cares about you. Warmly, Ella
Dear guerrilla Ella, Your e-mail found me as I was getting ready to leave Amsterdam for Malawi. I have been assigned to take pictures of the people in a village where AIDS is rampant and most children are orphans. Now, if everything goes well, I’ll be back in four days. Can I hope so? Yes. Can I control it? No! All I can do is take my laptop with me, try to find a good Internet connection, and hope that I will live another day. The rest is not in my hands. And this is what the Sufis call the fifth element — the void. The inexplicable and uncontrollable divine element that we as human beings cannot comprehend and yet should always be aware of. I don’t believe in “inaction” if by that you mean doing nothing at all and showing no deep interest in life. But I do believe in respecting the fifth element. I believe we each make a covenant with God. I know that I did. When I became a Sufi, I promised God to do my part to the best of my ability and leave the rest to Him and Him only. I accepted the fact that there are things beyond my limits. I can see only some parts, like floating fragments from a movie, but the bigger scheme is beyond my comprehension. Now, you think I am a religious man. But I am not. I am spiritual, which is different. Religiosity and spirituality are not the same thing, and I believe that the gap between the two has never been greater than it is today. When I look at the world, I see a deepening quandary. On the one hand, we believe in the freedom and power of the individual regardless of God, government, or society. In many ways human beings are becoming more self-centered and the world is becoming more materialistic. On the other hand, humanity as a whole is becoming more spiritual. After relying on reason for so long, we seem to have reached a point where we acknowledge the limits of the mind. Today, just as in medieval times, there is an explosion of interest in spirituality. More and more people in the West are trying to carve out a space for spirituality in the midst of their busy lives. But though they intend well, their methods are often inadequate. Spirituality is not yet another dressing for the same old dish. It is not something we can add to our life without making major changes there. I know you like to cook. Did you know that Shams says … the world is a huge cauldron and something big is cooking in it? We don’t know what yet. Everything we do, feel, or think is an ingredient in that mixture. We need to ask ourselves what we are adding to the cauldron. Are we adding resentments, animosities, anger, and violence? Or are we adding love and harmony? How about you, dear Ella? What ingredients do you think you are putting in the collective stew of humanity? … Whenever I think about you, the ingredient I add is a big smile. With love, Aziz
Shafak, Elif. The Forty Rules of Love (pp. 144–146). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
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Purpose in life wears different guises for different people. Some find the worth of their lives is in what they leave behind. Others chase money or fame. Yet some cherish and strive for a quiet and peaceful existence.
Whatever one’s perspective of purpose, humanity needs an injection of a sense of social responsibility; that we each must impact the world in a positive way, or as artfully put by Elif, add good ingredients to the stew. A sense of responsibility intertwined in our being, and ingrained in our daily lives much like brushing one’s teeth every morning.
The impact we each can make comes in varied forms and degrees, as far, as wide, and as deep as infinity itself. Bringing a smile to one’s face holds as much weight as achieving world peace, if that entails ones best effort. If there is more one can do, then one must do more.
Let’s fill up the cauldron with beautiful ingredients.
