Purposelessness

A little over a year ago, I was on vacation on Cape Cod with my beloved Derek and another couple. During that one, short week that we shared — in a beautiful location near the beach, but a less-than-ideal cottage (that was a bit rustic, overall, considering the cost) — I started feeling my all too familiar feelings of disconnection from the physical world. It begins slowly, most of the time, with an odd thought or impression that gradually turns into a mental obsession. On our vacation last year, it was a strange oil painting in our cottage that started the whole thing. It looked to be the work of a young, practicing artist. It was of a bird, a blue jay, looking rather subdued on a branch. But, the background of the painting was a shocking, vibrant melange of color — mostly oranges and reds — and we joked that this was the "Blue Jay of the Apocalypse" as it looked as if the world behind him was burning up.

Well, this image started my mental wheels rolling. Unfortunately, I am trapped easily by fears of global disaster. Since the onslaught of my symptoms of bi-polar disorder (or whatever it shall be called) about a decade ago, my imagination is often tickled into a state of dread and portent by thoughts of Armageddon and the possible pain it will cause. In the past, these thoughts have spurred me into "action" — meaning that I begin attempting to "fix" the remaining problems of the world through symbolic acts, thoughts, writings and comments. This behavior appears completely illogical to the people around me, and yet makes perfect sense to me internally. It is the disconnection from my friends and family at times like these that has caused immeasurable heartache and misunderstanding. When I can no longer explain myself, or when these explanations make no sense to people around me, they call for the assistance of "professionals" to intervene, and I usually end up hospitalized.

That silly "Blue Jay" set me off on a mental and physical crusade that lasted about a year, this time. It's been a terrible time for all of us in my family, and we are just now attempting to heal from the effects of this latest round of "mental illness." I have been battling demons in my mind — which have felt palpable and overwhelmingly real to me. Regardless of the opinions of others, I have felt that I have been contacting and healing some horribly frightened spirits . . . ones who have been living for a long time in mental "hells" of their own creation. Ultimately, I know these are my own fears, and my own spirit in need of healing and help, but in the fray of the "work," I see them as other and everywhere. I meet them in my own imagination, and also in the places I end up physically — such as homeless shelters and mental hospitals, and even online. Although there is no way to convince any of the "normal" people in my life that this is actually necessary work — that I am well-prepared for and understand completely — I continue to hope for compassion and understanding from a world and society that is nearly hopelessly (in my opinion) bound by falsity and illusion.

And yet, I know overall that my experience of this "imaginative battlefield" is also a complete illusion. I have looked upon my role in this game as having some sort of meaning, I suppose, in that I have offered myself to God, my whole life, as someone who would like to help Him fix things in this world. I have said it before, but it bears repeating, that I became determined to marry Jesus Christ in third grade . . . and knew even then that I wouldn't be given a chance to do so if I were not "worthy" of this somehow. The psychiatrists, I'm sure, could create a quite comprehensive study to show how my imaginative need for "religion" as a child created my eventual mental dysfunction and delusion. And, ultimately, regardless of how real my experiences feel, or whether my efforts actually bear results of any kind, they are indeed nothing more than mental illusions at play.

What I laughingly propose to all the "normies" is this . . . my mental war against fear and ignorance is delusional, yes, but no more delusional than the job/house/wife/child/college hunt that seems to be your life's purpose. Regardless of the fact that there are more of you than there are of me . . . it is my strong feeling that you, also, are pursuing a vacant dream.

According to Meher Baba, from The Everything and the Nothing:

"Reality is Existence infinite and eternal.

Existence has no purpose by virtue of its being real, infinite and eternal.

Existence exists. Being Existence it has to exist. Hence Existence, the Reality, cannot have any purpose. It just is. It is self-existing.

Everything — the things and the beings — in Existence has a purpose. All things and beings have a purpose and must have a purpose, or else they cannot be in existence as what they are. Their very being in existence proves their purpose; and their sole purpose in existing is to become shed of purpose, i.e., to become purposeless.

Purposelessness is of Reality; to have a purpose is to be lost in falseness.

Everything exists only because it has a purpose. The moment that purpose has been accomplished, everything disappears and Existence is manifested as self-existing Self.

Purpose presumes a direction and since Existence, being everything and everywhere, cannot have any direction, directions must always be in nothing and lead nowhere.

Hence to have a purpose is to create a false goal.

Love alone is devoid of all purpose and a spark of Divine Love sets fire to all purposes.

The Goal of Life in creation is to arrive at purposelessness, which is the state of Reality."

As an attempt to bring this understanding into my life in a deeper way, I am going to make a bold assertion and see how well it holds up over time. I suppose it could be considered a prayer of sorts — but more effectively, perhaps, it should be considered a meditation, since I feel I will be looking for ways to repeat and absorb its meaning for a long time:

It is time, finally, for me to become a living example of Meher Baba's assertion that there is no work to be done. I am choosing to embrace my own purposelessness . . . and to finally free myself from any anxiety about a world gone astray. I have done my best. Now, I will not worry and be happy.

I wish you well, dear friends, in your own search for meaning in life, which may have absolutely nothing to do with your perceived purpose.