"A Voice in the Wilderness"

We believe that we know so much, that, as we are, we are capable of so much. But, is this true? What do we know and what is the usefulness of that knowledge, other than to entertain and impress others with our “knowledge of the world”? It would be useful to distinguish what might be called “useful, practical, and necessary knowledge” from “uncertain, hypothetical, and abstract knowledge.” The former deals with the transfer of information to effect work: “The hammer is on the table. Please fetch it for me.” The latter has to do with probabilities, memories, and suppositions: “I am a good person. I was a poorer person yesterday, but with work I will be a better person tomorrow.” The first kind of knowledge, practical knowledge, more often than not deals with immediate, local realities that need to be acted upon. In these spheres knowledge (as well as communication) is indispensable for people to function. The second type of knowledge, psychological knowledge, is highly suspect in terms of its usefulness. In fact, it more often than not ends up depleting people of energy rather than satisfying any useful and good purpose.

The basic question we are considering here concerns the necessity and usefulness of knowledge. There are certain instances when knowledge is important and must be used. To do so requires the implementation of thought, or thinking. In all other conditions, however, we call into question the usefulness of knowledge (and thinking) at all. This in particular includes “self knowledge” and “the knowledge of others.” In short, we say “psychological knowledge.” We mean to say that we call into question the usefulness of a busy mind, an active mind, a thinking mind, in all conditions except those requiring the expenditure of thought-energy to effect some work in the material world (carpentry, for example, or farming). Other than for these purposes, isn’t a silent, observant mind of much greater value than an active, willful mind?
Psychological knowledge includes knowledge, or knowing, by the so-called ego, which is the individual’s sense of separateness, uniqueness, and specialness from the rest of life – the sense of superiority or inferiority when it comes to existence in the human community, coupled with ambition, pride, vanity, and greed. The observing mind is a mind active and alive in the here and now. The mind whose basis is activity, directivity, and willfulness is a mind principally centered on attaining a state qualitatively (and perhaps quantitatively also, i.e., money) different than the one it is currently in. The quality of such a striving mind is completely different than the quality of the mind that is quiet, silent, and at peace with the moment, thus seeking nothing outside of what it already has.

This is a key point. The difference between the mind that is restless and continually seeking something other than what it is or has, and the mind that is self-sufficient and non-striving. In the ancient science and art of development known as Yoga, the still, reflective, and observant mind was known as being in a state of sattva, or balanced, limpid, awake, and aware stillness; the active, thought-filled mind was in a state of rajas. Still another state, in which the mind functioned only poorly (according to authority, for example, or under the influence of drugs), practitioners termed tamas.

Today, we primarily live in a world dominated by thinking. Thought has conquered many domains and is continually active. Universities throughout the world are training minds to think along the lines of many specialties (disciplines), which in essence means dividing the mind and forcing it to function in very specific and limited capacities. All of this is the effortful, thinking mind. None of it has anything to do with the still, silent, and observant mind. The effects of thought (so many, many minds thinking) have created the “Wilderness.” The wilderness of thinking and of the activities of the mind: desire, greed, envy, invention, specialization, and endless chattering to take up time and remove awkward silences between people (friends and strangers alike). The “Voice in the Wilderness” is the awakening of the silent, observant mind, and with it a vast accompanying intelligence that is capable of responding perfectly to the moment (any moment) in the moment on the basis of an indefinite (non-defined) reservoir of information and energy that is part of the invisible process of seeing (the unifying factor in experience between so-called subject and so-called object). Silence and the invisible realm are filled with energy, information, and intelligence. Even present-day physics is acknowledging the existence of many, many fields and forms of matter that go far beyond what we can experience with our five senses: the specially named “dark matter” is a perfect example of this. Apparently, much of the universe is made of it, but we cannot even see it. It is a kind of “anti-matter.” Intelligence (perhaps infinite in nature and scope) is similar: it cannot be seen; however, its presence can be detected (vis-à-vis “synchronicity”) and inferred (more easily: how, for example, could the earth have been placed just the perfect distance away from the sun for life to exist without a great intelligence orchestrating it? “Chance?” The “chances” of chance or accident doing it are far less likely, that is, the odds are far more overwhelmingly against it happening by chance, than for it to have been the product of a supreme, infinite intelligence.) Intelligence, like light, is a quality that is sensed. In order to sense it, a certain amount of it must be present. That amount then grows as an accumulation, or at least the powers of perceiving intelligence are strengthened through practicing them. Intelligence may then come as an overwhelming force or insight, of its own accord. However it may occur, a voice is crying out in the wilderness for us to receive it.