I tried to understand life. I tried
to understand the whys and the hows. I tried to see beyond the pain and
the sufferings. I wanted to know the story behind the story. I wanted a whiff
of the meta-narratives.
So, I took on religion. I took on God. I questioned the
way he ran the world. I wanted to take out a referendum on his sovereignty. I
was tempted to source out for other options. Can anyone do better? Can anyone imagine the alternative? Physically
impossible (or unimaginable) I guess.
So, I asked God what is the meaning
of life? I
asked him to explain the mystery of the universe to me. I wanted him
to enlighten me on issues of gratuitous, aimless suffering. And most of all, I
needed him to shed some light on his divine elusiveness. Why is he always
lurking in the existential shadows? Why is he always speaking indirectly, in
riddles, sporadically, softly and by proxy? Why can't he show up once in a
while, with calculated regularity, in body and flesh, in subdued glory and in a
manner that doesn't blind us?
At times, my quest for
understanding
even bothered on some edgy form of rustic desperation. But strangely, and somehow
quite expectedly though, God didn't seem to share my enthusiasm, even
desperation, for beyond-a-reasonable-doubt answers. He seemed to prefer to
engage me in other ways that are less ostentatious, more private and nuanced.
He appeared very much like the cool empire who sets the color pegs in the
code-breaking game called Mastermind; keeping an arm's length from all and
silent about the
secrets of life.
Even so, and after all these years, I
find that his answers, at least to me, are best described in this way (so pull
up your metaphorical bootstraps and bear with me):
Imagine you are in a megastore, quite
lost, and you ask the store assistant for a ladder to be used to reach that
display item at the top side of the shelf. You fancy a gander at it. So, the
store assistant politely obliged. He
disappears into the far corner, lumbers
back with a ladder, and leans it clumsily against the stacked up shelves.
You then thanked him for the service
and starts to scale up the ladder. Along the way upwards, you pass by many
items on the lower shelves. But still, you have yet to reach the level where
your item is placed. It is somehow positioned much higher than you had
expected. You no doubt discover many things on display and learn many things
along the way. But that item that you want
so much nevertheless still eludes
you. You can't seem to reach it.
Although you could still see it, it
remains beyond your reach. Left without much of a choice, that is, either
upwards or downwards, you decide wearily to scale up the ladder with what
deflated optimism that is still within you.
Now you can loosen those metaphorical
bootstraps and return to reality with me about my struggles with life and God.
That is somehow the answer I often
get
in my quest to understand him. More specifically, the answer to gratuitous
sufferings, among other things, is like scaling up that seemingly endless
ladder looking for that display item I have been craving for from the start.
And I am still climbing that ladder. I don't know how long the upward climb
will take. Neither do I know whether I will ever reach that much desired shelf
at the top. The answer always eludes me.
But I guess this is what
understanding life and its perplexities are ultimately all about.
You just know
in your heart that there are answers waiting to be discovered. They come in
many forms. Some are direct like a math problem. Some are indirect like a quiz.
And still others, the rare ones, the really vexing ones, if you'd ever
bothered, are as impenetrable as trying to force an adult camel into the eye of
a needle (oops, I hope I am being
original here).
But whatever it is, however
exasperating the struggle, I will do myself (and humanity) the greatest
disservice if I should
choose to believe, even for a moment, that there are in
fact easy, one-off answers to such challenging, life-baffling questions. And god forbid that I should write a book or two about it boasting about how simple the answer is. Here
is a quote from a historian that is most relevant, "The greatest obstacle
to knowledge is not ignorance. It is the illusion of knowledge." (Daniel
Boorstein). And how many of us have been led to that mirage of knowledge only
to discover that there is nothing there except a lot of hot rising air?
You see, I do not approach the
mind
of God with a simple lock and key and expect one key to unlock everything about
the mysteries of the universe. That would be no less a standing mockery to the
infinite ingenuity of our Creator.
My point is this. If it takes an eternal being to create a
temporal, transient world, however vast and seemingly endless this world
appears to us, wouldn't it take a duration that is at least proximate to an
eternity, and no shorter, to understand it
all? If you concur, then the question
of all questions will be this: Do you
have the time? And if you do, then don't look down my friend…keeping
climbing. Cheerz.
* Image from "mymorningmeditation.com."
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