LITMIR.BIZ

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into our world, it is hard to admit to others, and even to ourselves, that our minds are haunted by questions for which we have no answers, dilemmas for which we have no solution.

      There are questions we formulate with our intellect when we want to solve a problem, for example, “How can I increase sales for my business?” or “How can I lose twenty pounds?” We ponder these questions when we have time or interest, and then when we’re tired of considering them, we put the questions in the “To Do” pile in our brain. And then there are the other kinds of questions, the ones that insistently push their way into our awareness and refuse to leave until they are heard: “How did I get here? What’s happening to me and my life?” These are questions that we cannot control. They haunt us like stubborn ghosts and will not be dismissed until we give them our attention.

      Ingrid Bengis, a wonderful Russian-American writer, speaks eloquently about these moments in her book Combat in the Erogenous Zone:

      The real questions are the ones that obtrude upon your consciousness whether you like it or not, the ones that make your mind start vibrating like a jackhammer, the ones that you “come to terms with” only to discover that they are still there. The real questions refuse to be placated. They barge into your life at the times when it seems most important for them to stay away. They are the questions asked most frequently and answered most inadequately, the ones that reveal their true natures slowly, reluctantly, most often against your will.

      As travelers on life’s path, we are defined by both the questions we ask ourselves and by the ones we avoid asking. Just as when we were children, we encounter moments as adults when we need to ask, “How did I get here?” in order to become wiser about who we are.

       Times of questioning are not moments of weakness, nor are they moments of failure. In truth, they are moments of clarity, of wakefulness, when our quest for wholeness demands that we live a more conscious, more authentic life.

      How we deal with these crucial moments of self-inquiry determines the outcome of our journey. Embracing the question, we open ourselves to receiving insight, revelation, healing and the deep peace that can only be achieved when we are not running away from anything, especially from ourselves. Turning away from the voice that asks, “How did I get here?” we close off to growth, to change, to movement, and condemn ourselves to a pattern of resistance and denial. Why? Because the question doesn’t disappear. It eats away at us, gnawing on our awareness in an attempt to get our attention.

      There is a classic Zen Buddhist story, or koan, about a person who is receiving instruction on passing through the Gateless Gate—the barrier of ignorance—in an attempt to discover the Truth of Life and to achieve the Buddha Nature. The Zen Master warns the student that in contemplating the ultimate question of the nature of reality, he will feel as if he has swallowed a red-hot iron ball that is stuck in his throat—he cannot gulp it down, and he cannot spit it out. All the student can do is to concentrate his full attention and awareness on the question and not give up, and his attainment of truth will be such that it will illuminate the universe.

      Of course, this is easier said than done. Most of us do not greet the arrival of burning questions with a Zen-like attitude of acceptance, but rather with the kind of dread we feel when we are about to have painful dental surgery. We get very good at stubbornly ignoring the arrival of crises even while we’re in the midst of them. We become experts in negation—“What red-hot iron ball …?”—as we reach for our tenth glass of ice water.

      Denial is no easy task. It takes a tremendous amount of energy to drown out the insistent voice of “How did I get here?” Some people turn to addictions to anesthetize themselves from the constant discomfort caused by the invisible presence of the question. Others distract themselves with everything from work to exercise to caretaking those around them—anything to avoid dealing with the issues they know on some level they must face. And there are those who lapse into “magical thinking,” convincing themselves that if they just act as if everything is going to be fine, some mysterious shift will happen and everything will be wonderful again—their estranged husband will suddenly fall back in love with them, their alcoholic wife will miraculously stop drinking, they will wake up one day and all the things they thought were wrong with their life will magically have vanished.

      But this is not how it turns out. Instead, when we ignore the questions our inner voice is asking us, we suffer. We become irritable, angry, depressed or simply exhausted. We disconnect from ourselves, our dreams and our own passion. We disconnect from our mate and our sexuality. We turn off in every sense of the word.

      It takes great courage to allow ourselves to arrive at the place at which we are finally willing to hear burning questions and begin to seek answers. It takes great courage to not freeze up in the face of our fear, to allow these difficult questions and painful realities to pierce our illusions, to shake up our picture of how we want our life to appear and confront it as it really is.

       True transformation requires great acts of courage: the courage to ask ourselves the difficult questions that seem, at first, to have no answers; the courage to hold these questions firmly in our awareness while they burn away our illusions, our sense of comfort, sometimes our very sense of self.

      When the Questions Outnumber the Answers

      For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin— real life—but there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. —Alfred D’Souza

      I used to believe if I did everything perfectly, nothing unexpected would happen to me. I grew into a young adult in the 1960s and began my career in the 1970s. Like many baby boomers, I was fed a sociological diet of confidence, optimism and unlimited possibilities. “Discover your dream, create a plan, work hard to meet your goals, and you will live happily and successfully ever after.” This was the prevailing conventional wisdom, and I eagerly put it into practice. By my mid-thirties, I had achieved more than I could have ever imagined for myself. During the next ten years, every area of my life continued to expand in success and personal fulfillment. It seemed that all my efforts, determination and hard work had paid off a thousandfold.

      And then things changed. One after another, a series of unpredictable and unwelcome events marched into my life like a rowdy invading army, trampling disrespectfully over my carefully planned and impeccably executed picture of how things were supposed to turn out. Within a few years, several of my long-term personal and professional relationships came to end, some gracefully, others awkwardly, but all very painfully. A number of projects on which I’d worked for quite a while unexpectedly developed into situations that were much less satisfying to me. Some opportunities that I had been excited about turned into complicated ordeals that were uninspiring and unappealing.

      Suddenly nothing seemed clear anymore. So many things I had been certain about in my life now appeared murky and confused. People and situations I’d counted on to always be there as my anchors had vanished. Accomplishments that had always given me joy felt flat and tedious. The most frightening thing of all was that I found myself beginning to reevaluate the very success and lifestyle I’d worked so hard to achieve. Was this really what I wanted to be doing? Was this where and how I wanted to live? Was this who I really was?

      I’d thought I’d been traveling on a well-marked and very straight path, but here I was, standing at an intersection containing so many crossroads that I became dizzy just looking at all of them. I felt disoriented, bewildered and unsure of how to proceed or which turn to take next. How had this happened? Everything had seemed to be on track. And I knew I had tried my hardest and done my best. So how, then, did I arrive at a time and place in my life where I had more questions than answers? How did I get here?

      I was certain about one thing—I desperately needed to get away from my daily routine, to try to sort through the jumble of thoughts and feelings I was struggling to untangle

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