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“ Like every other being, I am a splinter of the infinite deity…” Carl Jung [1]It’s such a simplistic statement that I hesitate to say it. And yet, despite its obviousness, we really don’t get it; or rather, we don’t implement it. This point is so fundamental that we cannot survive without it.
We need one another.
People, as a whole, instinctively cluster (as do many other species) because we are stronger, safer and more productive as a group. Sometimes the clusters are small and personal, other times they are large and formal. We cluster by family groups, nationality, religious affiliation, vocation, political beliefs, etc. These clusters form our support base, create of identity, and sense of security. Though we may not say it, or even recognize what we’re seeking, we need to be with others—to connect on a physical, spiritual and/or intellectual level.
For most of my life I have fought to be both independent and part of something. Intellectually, I didn’t want to be restricted by my upbringing or society. I’ve always tended to think outside the norm and see things from a different perspective than others. And I was always thinking. Always analyzing. Always watching . Always learning. As a child, that made me different than others and set me apart enough that I had difficulty developing close friendships. At the same time, I craved intimacy. I craved the kind of friendships that I saw others developing.
When such friendships didn’t develop, I turned inward and, at the age of nine, found the qi—although I didn’t realize it at the time. After an explosive fight with my brother, I went to my room, psychically reached out and experienced an instantaneous transformation that permanently changed my life perspective and behaviors. With a Christian mom and going to a Christian church, it was natural that I’d later interpret that event within a Christian context and declare that I had been born again. I interpreted later inexplicable experiences (at 17 and 20) within the same context…until recently.
Humans are constantly attempting to recreate some facsimile of the unity found in the qi. To belong to something bigger/greater than ourselves. For us to thrive, it is essential. We may start our quest with family, but if our need isn’t met there, we’ll turn elsewhere: to religion, gangs, causes, etc. I turned towards religion.
For me, religion exemplified what I craved: friendships, solidarity, and a means to understanding and touching the abstract (God). Unfortunately, they fell short on all counts, but I didn’t know where else to turn. Christianity had declared itself to be the one true religion and all other beliefs to be demonic and I accepted that, which gave me no other framework for interpreting the abstract/supernatural.
Hungry—no, starving!—for a deeper and more fulfilling relationship with God, I devoured the bible and, in time, began developing more and more extreme beliefs. Beliefs that were a more accurate depiction of the biblical faith. I idolized the fanatical-like intensity of the apostles and their single-minded devotion to God, even at the cost of their own lives. I could think of no greater achievement than to be “one” with God, and that was exactly what the faith promised.
To be one with God…part of the family of faith…unified by the indwelling Holy Spirit…possessing the mind of God…these concepts weren’t mere abstractions to me. They represented the ultimate reality. The goal.
As I look back, I have to shake my head. I was so close to the truth, but religious dogma blinded me to it. For that matter, religious dogma forbid me from even considering an alternate interpretation. My religion gave me a small list of acceptable ways to interpret things, and recognizing that I was trying to recreate the qi wasn’t one of them. Yet that was what I was doing. I was seeking the path that would allow me to become an active participant in the cosmic consciousness.
Our existence isn’t about being born or dying. It’s about being. Life gives each of us a chance to experience the flesh. To experience hopes and dreams. To experience the tangible, even while a part of us craves the unity we left behind.
We are like a package: we have an outer wrapper (flesh), a shipping address (where and to whom we are born) and a return address (our place of origin). The wrapper protects the contents while it is shipped from one place to another. The condition of the outer box when it arrives is irrelevant as long as the contents (the psyche or force that influences our thinking, personality and behaviors) remain safe. As for the return shipping address, that’s where the energy or psyche originated—where the greater consciousness or qi dwells. It was severed from the qi and shipped away but it longs for home—for the qi. Whereas once it was part of something bigger than itself, now it is isolated by the boundaries of the wrapper/flesh.
This concept has wide-ranging ramifications for every society. Loneliness and depression kill and I believe both these conditions stem from isolation (feeling homesick for the qi). When we cannot recreate a close enough facsimile to the qi, nor can we connect with the qi (either because we don't recognize the need or we ignore it) it is akin to being stranded or abandoned. Is it any wonder then that people instinctively choose suicide—a decision that will allow them to return home and reintegrate with the qi?
For the most part, prayer and meditation are two sides of the same coin: one is directed outward and the other is directed inward. Or to put it in spiritual terms: prayer is about the divine hearing us and meditation is about us hearing the divine. Most religions emphasize prayer, meditation/contemplation as a means for believers (individually or corporately) to access the divine. And, because prayer satisfies many of our psychological/psychic needs, prayer is often instinctual. In times of duress we are likely to cry out to a nameless someone or something even if we don’t believe in god, per se. But to whom are we reaching out? To whom are we communicating? A god? The qi? Our unconscious? Our ancestors? Aliens? Beings in an alternate dimension?
The term we use is irrelevant because the term isn’t the reality. The term is just a means of expressing an idea or concept. It’s the underlying meaning that is real. And what is that meaning? That we are seeking outside of our conscious for something that lies beyond. That we want to access the unseen whether we call it our unconscious mind or Xanadu. And if we believe that we have each emerged out of something bigger or greater than ourselves, then I would go so far as to suggest we’re, in effect, calling home.
[1] Jung, C.G. Memories, Dreams, Reflections. Originally published 1963 by Random House.
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