A Portion of Completeness

Our faith comes in moments; our vice habitual. Yet there is a depth in those brief moments which constrains us to ascribe more reality to them than to all other experiences. For this reason, the argument which is always forthcoming to silence those who conceive extraordinary hope of man, namely, the appeal to experience is for ever invalid and vain. We give up the past to the objector, and yet we hope. We must explain this hope. We grant than human life is mean; but how did we find out it was mean? What is the ground of this uneasiness of ours; of this old discontent? What is this universal sense of want and ignorance, but the fine innuendo by which the soul makes its enormous claim? Why do men feel that the natural history of man has never been written, but he is always leaving behind what you have said of him and it becomes old, and books of metaphysics worthless?

The philosophy of six thousand years has not searched the chambers and magazines of the soul. In its experiments there has always remained, in the last analysis a residuum it could not resolve.

 Man is a stream whose source is hidden. Our being is descending into us from we know not whence. The most exact calculator has no prescience that somewhat incalculable may not balk the very next moment. I am constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin for events than the will I call mine.

As with events, so is it with thoughts. When I watch that flowing river which out of regions I see not, pours for a season its stream into me, I see that I am a pensioner; not a cause, but a surprised spectator of this ethereal water; that I desire and look up and pull my self in the attitude of reception, but from some alien energy the vision come.

Ralph Waldo Emerson in his essay The Over-soul written in 1842 is an accurate description of the self I call human. I am physical energy filled with power from a source that eludes my physical senses. I develop stories and beliefs about the nature of my own multi-dimensional reality and live through the stories that are lodged firmly in my convictions and beliefs. I'm not sure what it is that motivates me to develop the external manifestations of my beliefs, but I have been doing it for thousands of linear years.

The stories change and the people and places within them change in form and substance as I become more aware of my own energy. Stories written thousands of years in the past have a deep rooted truth, but may be covered with the fragile beliefs of the writer. I believe them regardless of their frailty, because my physical senses justify their existence through religion or science. The metaphysical aspects of these stories are woven through each page, but are lost in the translation of human ego.

The history of man as Emerson points out is only partially recorded. The river of man is studied, but the water of life is overlooked and taken for granted. Within the water lies another fragment of unrecorded history that is pack in molecules of mental enzymes, which release themselves in physiological time, as well as linear time. I look at the river and discount each drop of water. Each one is an element of the whole, while being a whole itself. I fail to incorporate my inner senses in the act of physical knowing fearing I cross into the forbidden territory of unknown aspects of my self, even though I feel those aspects every moment. The hopes I feel in those moments are my inner senses expressing a blueprint for me to follow. That blueprint is the ethereal water of wisdom that is a portion of my entity in its completeness. A portion in completeness is a description of one self which is focused on multitudinous realities which express manifestations from a hidden source. Following the blueprint I am no longer a surprised spectator, but an aware component in the action of consciousness. I sense a portion of my own completeness and in that process a drop becomes a sea and I expand using moments as waves of awareness. 

http://www.shortsleeves.net/

http://halmanogue.blogspot.com/