A fish dying of thirst
We are like fish dying of thirst in an ocean. We seek meaning yet remain parched.
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We are like fish dying of thirst in an ocean. We seek meaning yet remain parched. We swim to the bottom, still we cannot find the water to quench our thirst.
We climb the highest mountains, retreat to caves, and perform rituals to find our Beloved. We pray day and night, asking for a sign. We want to believe we are loved, but how can we when society, with its materialism and scepticism, proclaims there is no Beloved, only pure coincidence?
Must we then die of thirst in this ocean because we cannot see the water?
But how can you die when the water you seek surrounds you, when your very breath is possible because of it? Don’t you know that a Tuna must continuously swim to push water into its gills to breathe?
Ah, the embarrassment in finally apprehending that you are swimming because of the very water you seek.
My friend, we must open our eyes.
We’re kicking and screaming at the front door of Love. We want to enter this house of Love.
We’re pleading, “Let us in! We cannot go on any longer.”
“We’re exhausted.”
Then the door flings open. Our hearts rejoice. We expect a grand hall, but see the outside—the flowers, the trees, the birds, the insects.
Oh, we were inside this whole time.
The Beloved is not out there on mountains, within caves, or in rituals. No one can give you the Beloved. You have to find and know Him for yourself. The further you travel to find the Beloved, the harder He is to reach.
Thus the wise person knows without travelling, understands without seeing, accomplishes without acting.1
Listen closely, your very breath speaks to you of the Beloved. Each inhalation, each exhalation sings with the cosmos and participates in the eternal dance.
But we’re too caught up in our vanities we lose sight of this truth. So then we ask questions like, “Does the Beloved think about me?” And go on to wonder if we’re just random combinations of dirt floating in the cosmos with no purpose.
Ask yourself: Do you think about yourself?
Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn't ask such questions. If you think of yourself, know that the Beloved is always thinking about you.
The Beloved is closer to you than your own breath. So does He think about you? He is living in you. You breathe and move because of Him.
You are the image of the Beloved.2
The silence you avoid through countless distractions is where He is waiting. Patiently. Longingly. Calling you with each breath you take.
So drink deeply of this everlasting water.
Pause, breathe, and see the Beloved in the silence, in your neighbour, in sacred places, in nature.
Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.3
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Tao Te Ching, 47.
“So God created man in his own image (eikón).” Gen. 1.
John 4.