More on the Sense of Union

I find myself asking what we are searching for. And I hear a babble of answers flooding into my mind: to find ourselves, to be ourselves, to be content with what we find and what we are, and to be better, wiser, easier, more able, more prepared, more loving, more in touch with the world, more in touch with the contents of the world. And I now it is possible to be all these things, and to share it and to share these things.

How it happened
I have had a sight of something . It came from knowing the heaviness in another’s heart, of the clutter of people and things which blocked out their light; from a sense of Lu; from the overflowing rattle of thoughts that had filled my head for days — it came from the pressure of things: theirs and mine. It was the product of a sense of union. It was a realisation of a sense of union with another. And I saw it, in my mind, as something within me — more than I was before it happened. The experience was the seeing of the sense of union and the sight of it guaranteed its reality to my experience.

The sight I had came in a rush, came first in a babble, carried on the noise of a babble — it was a clatter borne on a clatter. Then, suddenly, it was still, everything was still — but its stillness was not the absence of it, it was its presence. The union was within me. And I saw the sense of it — the sense of union. And, for a moment, there was nothing else. It was so engrossing it filled me — pushed everything else aside. And I realised I had accepted its reality, and its cause, and its meaning, and its fullness, and I felt a moment of peace. And I knew that all these feelings were combined, and real, and they formed something together: a sense of union, an acceptance, a peace. And I was not consumed by them in the sense that I was lost to myself, or that what I was aware of was fragmented or broken — I remained intact. I was not suspicious of it, I did not think to discount it as a construction of my own, or hesitate over its reality — nor have I done since.

And it is practical — genuinely practical. I can hardly believe it — practical. And it has affected my life — I have changed because of it. What thing can be more real than that it has caused me to be something that once I was not? Something which enshrines the essential character of my being — change.

I think about it
Now, I have reflected a little — recovered from the impact of it, looked back at it as a retrospect, or down on it as if I was an observer of myself, but it is still there, as it was. Now, I need to describe it, just to see it explained in the way I readily know things — in words. So, I go back a little, to plot its occurrence, to define the thing it was — the thing it is.

I am currently thrown into a wave of optimism. I have, I think, always believed there is something 'more' to the world than the world as it appears — that there is appearance and that there is something more real which is either not so apparent or not apparent at all. As a child I doubted the relative sizes of objects, and I saw halos of light around people. I was dissuaded from both beliefs by wiser parents. But what can be not so apparent or not apparent at all? Something beyond? Something deeper? Something better? I'm not sure, but something different, something which is not what is apparent. It could be better I suppose, or worse; it could be so far away in time that we cannot even imagine it; or it could be simply beyond our abilities, if we were faced with it we may not be able to comprehend it; it could be right here, now, at this moment, available, already lit, already at our fingertips. I do not know. Yet, just at the moment, although I say I do not know what it is, I feel as though I am just touching it. Whatever it is, that is how I feel. And I am the evidence of it to myself as well as the rationalizer of the experience — and that is reasonable.

The thing about Plato's cave is that the appearance is of something misleading anyway. The shadows are only of marionettes. The creatures that carry the marionettes are surely more real? I think this allegory teaches us not to look to the appearance of a thing for any hint of the reality of that thing, or any other thing which the appearance of that thing may point to. Or maybe not even beyond appearance, because that also would be using the false appearance as a reference point — a starting point. Who could deduce a creature carrying a marionette on a stick from the flickering shadow of the marionette on a rough stone wall? The clue is somewhere else, I think. It may be that appearance does not even indicate anything of the nature of the reality which may be beyond it.

I think about it again
Now it is later still, and I am still shocked by my experience.

This idea of ‘sense of union’ has caught my imagination — it has sent me reeling. I am not quite sure of its character, but it is something like this: feeling in touch with other things or people, realising our separation from other things or people, realising our isolation and the isolation of all other things, benefiting from the sense of union that can be had, accepting the framework of what is, feeling at peace with all these things. That is part of its oddity — it is both the thing itself and the product of the thing itself. It is what it is and what it does to me.

And it is a combination of type. The sense of union is a mental thing, acceptance is a practical thing. It is not simply an answer to a question, a rational image, the sort of result achieved by philosophising, but it has something inherently practical about it — it requires the involvement of the person — it has affected my life, it has significance. Having an image in mind borne of rational effort is easy compared to being faced with something which changes your life.

I see something wrong with happiness
I am led to the idea that peace is the true moral aim. Aristotle is wrong about final cause. It is not happiness but peace which is the ultimate human goal. There is no point in testing these out as comparative qualities, to try and see which is the most immune from exception — there will always be exceptions — we do not seek universal laws of nature when we seek the meaning of human goals. Comparative testing is pointless. If I say, an individual could be happy whilst committing the worst morally evil act, I could also say an individual could be peaceful committing the same act. I could say, there may be features of peace which would seem superior to those of happiness — we might consider the state of ‘being at peace’ a deeper, more meaningful experience than ‘being happy’. But I could probably say it the other way round. I could suggest that happiness could cause peacefulness whereas peacefulness is unlikely to cause happiness, but how could this be solved? It might be preferable to feel at peace than to feel merely happy, but it might also be better to be happy more than merely peaceful. This exercise is pointless. It prevaricates the distinction, nothing more. Acceptance of the sense of union made me feel at peace, not happy, and feeling at peace left me nowhere to go, I could not imagine a state beyond it, certainly I cannot see that it is preparing me in any way for happiness.

And now I see many things wrong with happiness. This conviction of Aristotle’s in classic times, together with the growth of Christianity, and the later renaissance of Aristotle in the fifteenth century, has led the west to be convinced of happiness as the ultimate goal. As well as the spread of utilitarian thinking, this conviction has led to a desire to acquire those things which make us feel, albeit often only transiently, happy. Aristotle’s rating of happiness has made a direct and profound contribution to the greed and acquisitional impetus behind modern western consumerism. One can easily imagine a different world in which the most highly rated quality was peace. If happiness, as the final cause, has led to greedy and competitive acquisitiveness, then it has steered human beings away from the concept of acceptance — acceptance cannot drive a consumer project, we have to desire the better, newer, or superior product in order for capitalism to survive. Acceptance stills the force of competitiveness, envy, and greed which drive consumer happiness. And it can lead the individual to a sense of peace — a condition which would not need superseding in the way that modern western consumer happiness does. Modern western consumer happiness is not a final cause, it is only a reason for a further desire, a further purchase. Consumer happiness is, therefore, by its nature, an unhappy state in that it is only a state in the progress towards a further future happiness. And yet modern western consumer happiness is deemed happiness. The attainment of acceptance, which can lead to the ultimate acquisition of a state of peace, can be found from, or generated by, a ‘sense of union’.

The sense of union is both the cause and the effect — it is there all the time, it is what, as individuals, we are enabled to do. This is our purpose — to experience that which we are not, to experience identity with another when we are so isolated, to feel in company when we are so lonely. How does it come about? In a way, I am not sure. How can we generate a feeling that we ‘know’ someone or something? Is it a skill? Is it something that can be learned? Or passed on? Or acquired? As a first step, awareness of it would be useful, I suppose. ‘Openness’ or ‘space’ may be elements in our perceiving it. A willingness perhaps? A sincerity? A commitment to truth? Is that all too ambiguous? Probably. A love?

Acceptance
We find acceptance through the sense of union and the sense of union is both what acceptance stems from and what acceptance results in. A state of acceptance therefore causes us to perceive more the sense of union. That is my experience of it. And I have a practical challenge before me because of it. And I feel a sense of peace simply being on the path it sets me on.

Peace
Peace is what I am feeling now: at ease, free, part of all I imagine there is, both separate and combined, fearless.

Is the sense of union convincing?
Does it make sense to talk of acceptance and peace when the sense of union itself seems to evade description? Yes, it does. This is not an experiment in the location of the rationally convincing.

It is a practical thing
And what do I do with this thing which I have had a sight of, and which I call practical? Will it remain with me without any further effort on my part? No, it will die away like anything ignored, unfed. But how can I develop something which is complete? I cannot. But if I want this to be with me, or me with it, I need to alter my way of sensing — it is only available to me if I am available to it. And then acceptance is so hard. How can I achieve an acceptance of things in the world when I am intolerant of them? But that is fading, like an old habit, already it passes. It is the positive aspect, the openness to the other — the other person or the other thing — which I must lay claim to.

I am reminded of the words of Ecclesiastes, that never again will the dead have a part in anything that happens under the sun, and I feel again the sense of union with life and all it contains.

What is this thing I am calling a sense of union?
So what is this thing? Is it something that I can somehow switch on for myself, or tell someone else how to switch it on for themselves? Is it something that can be evoked and so can set in train the loop of realisation, acceptance, and peace, which I experienced? Is it so simple?

But do I know what happens or what I did when it happened to me? I was listening to someone else, listening in such a way that I heard nothing else. I felt their pain and heaviness of heart — their worry. I listened to them. And what did I hear? I heard myself. The sound of them caused a silence in me, and amid that silence I heard my own heart, and it beat with theirs and, without them knowing, they beat together. And the benefit was mine, and it was that simple. I gave myself away to them. I abandoned my self in favour of their self and it was in an instant that I reclaimed my self and I was more, because they were with me. And, like the loss of my heart through a kiss or my soul behind the eyes of another, they did not even feel it going. The sense of union filled me like a deluge and I accepted myself, and them, and, for a moment, the world, and peace descended onto and into me. I did not have to create peace to find the sense of union. The sense of union arrived amidst the noise of confusion, the clamour of discontent, the weight of a heavy heart. It was the singular act of identity — abandoning self for the sake of the other.

So, can I switch it on, or show someone else how to switch it on? Possibly. But it requires effort — the effort is to abandon self, go out, be with another.

This is a practical thing. And I think again of Ecclesiastes: ‘Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body’. Yes, this is a truly practical matter, and we are only equipped for practical matters, and so this is a thing in keeping with and benefiting our nature. It is a natural part of our practical self — our physical sensual experience.

How can I do anything except accept when I am faced with myself? And, through another, in a sense of union, that is what I am faced with — myself. I cannot reject myself or I reject everything that I am — the living world that is me. Any sense of myself through another with another, must imply acceptance. Acceptance of self must be a state of peace, for there is nothing else in life in the face of death, and we are, in life, always in the face of death.

But what am I suggesting we need to accept? I can only say for myself, from my own experience. The world changes, there is time because of time, we experience life because of change — nothing is immune to change. And yet we find change hard to tolerate, as though it is an alien force, something arrived on the doorstep to threaten us. Cicero speaks of his difficulties accepting the ways of the young that follow him into his own middle years. The only thing about change which is unchangeable is the quality, and existence of change itself. We baulk against it at our peril. Imagine the practical aspects of life that cause us worry or heartache. How many of these are connected to change: the new boss, the falling pension, the new housing estate, the influx of foreigners, the unobtainability of a favourite food?

When we involve ourselves like this, we are not identifying with the nature of the object of our interest — the thing itself — but only with the quality of its changing, its alteration, and that is the source of our discomfort. A sense of union brings us into contact with the thing itself. The nature of its changing is irrelevant because it is barely changing when we are in contact with it in this way. Our contact is in the now — the specious present, the period of time that we call ‘this present moment’ — our experience of what we call ‘now’. Acceptance of what is now, and dismissal of what may have been or what will be, as part of the condition of a thing, is essential to the bringing about of the sense of union. Acceptance of now is an implicit part of the union we have with anything which is outside our self because the union is necessarily of the now.

We may have a sound appreciation of history, and we may anticipate much change in the future, but change that affects us is peculiarly change in our own lifetime. We are borne and grow up into our own particular world. And it is only change in that world which truly affects us. We may understand, from history, what the nature of North America may have been before the arrival of Europeans, but as we travel through it, it is unlikely that we would criticise the access granted us by the interstate highway. In a thousand years time, someone may know the history of the interstate highway that we experience now, but they will utilise whatever is available to them then. It is when the interstate highway is to be built through our backyard that we feel the destructive urgency of change and the pressures which test — sometimes to the limit — our ability to accept. The idealisation of selected times before our time which encapsulate our desires from our position of changing discomfiture are times of the previous inhabitants’ discomfiture. There is no point at which there is not, at least potential, discomfiture. Acceptance is not to do with our discomfort with a changing world, it is to do with our acknowledgement of isolation and the existence of another.

The most pressing question, therefore, is can a sense of union be evoked, at all or even easily?

How can we be led to a sense of union? Can a sense of union be evoked, at all or even easily?
A sense of union can be evoked for every category of thing: persons, inanimate objects, living things which are creatures, living things which are not creatures. Sense of union is a loving thing that requires identity with something of the other. It must be seen as something which is being offered, not something that is being taken. The reward of the sense of union is the reward of the giving of a gift. The gift is yourself. There are some things which might be considered useful to the invocation of the sense of union, though these might not evoke it, or may evoke it more or less easily. A sense of union can be had with any other, but it is easier, and is a fuller experience, with someone who is willing, a companion, a seeker, a searcher of self, of wisdom, of realisation. A person is the only one of the categories that can be judged receptive or willing. For a true sense of union between persons both must be at least receptive. In the absence of this the sense of union, even though it take place between two persons, would fall into one of the other categories. All other things cannot be judged willing or receptive though they may be subject to various anthropologically generated attributes.

There are a number of features which could rightly be seen as invocative or part of a sense of union. My list here is not exhaustive, nor does it indeed represent anything beyond a consideration of my own experience.

For all things:
Do not avoid clatter. Do not avoid quietness. Do not avoid times of clutter. Do not avoid times of quiet reflection.

Be open in yourself and encourage the creation of openness.

Be truthful and faithful to your own sense of truthfulness.

Recognise the other as a separate entity. If a person, then with their own form, mentality, sensuality, appreciation of change, memories, actions. If a living thing which is a creature, identify with their sense of the world. If a living thing which is not a creature, identify with their place in the history of their existence. If an inanimate object, identify with its place in the world, with its occupation of its own space, with its taking up of a succession of moments in that space.

With a person:
Commit your attention to the other. Allow them to know you are entirely available for them — you are their other, and you are for them.

Do not hold back.

Listen, observe, be attentive, think of their world as your world, inhabit their world, do not hold onto yourself, release yourself into the other, help them to let you in by being there to be let in.

Enter.

Realise them. Let them feel the presence of you and of you feeling the presence of them.

Be together.

With an inanimate object:
Communicate. Make up for the fact that you are the only one living by understanding the place of the object in the world, its component value and its meaning in space and in time.

Be attentive, observe the object closely.

Wait with it. Accompany it through its succession of moments.

See it, listen to it, understand that what joins you both are your senses alone, and your senses allow you to realise that you are both part of the same world — both objects in time, both components, one aware of both, bringing both together.

Allow yourself to realise.

Do not hold back.

Accept the sameness between you. Be that which is the same. Accept everything that it is.

With a living thing which is a creature:
Offer your awareness of it.

Sense its place in the world of the living.

With a living thing which is not a creature:
Allow yourself to be a component in its history.

Sense its place in the world.

Sense its place in respect of the world of the living.