Reflection | On Blogging & Meaning Making | 16th July 2011

I saw a light flickering. Oh, that was a beep also from my cell phone. Message from a friend, "What is your blog ID?" I smiled. The sense of shy pride that fills our heart when someone asks about what we consider our own; but somehow refuse to openly acknowledge it.

I shared the blog link and as I sat wondering on the long silence I've had on my blog, saw another message, "You better start writing... as i want to read and reflect." My fistful heart simultaneously swelled with pride and cringed at the thought. I am still trying to sort myself out.

I mean, this is the second time I have received something like this. While I now do acknowledge that what I write has its own strength, I also can't help but wonder at the underlying thought: "Hey man, help me make some meaning." Is that not what I do myself?

As I write, I help uncover some meaning, to my thoughts and to my experiences in life. Sometimes, I wonder if the Forum Leader at The Landmark Forum was correct in saying, "We are nothing but a meaning making machine." At one level, meaning making gives purpose and a sense of direction; yet at another, it just robs one of the spontaneity of life. They say that in the Taoist thought, 'meaningless' of life is the greatest virtue. My little reading of Carl Jung tells me that even in his scheme of things, there is a similar metaphor for the highest objective of life.

Where does the sense of meaning and purpose reside? We can explore it from all angles, but eventually, I wonder if anyone ever has a sense of what is "it" all about! I like the word 'IT' - a good word to use when something can not be defined; alternately, at times a way of getting to state without stating yourself. For e.g., "It was a great function." Superb - where are you in the statement? What were your feelings? No - that all can be avoided by use of the word "it". And as you can see that is precisely what I have done too!

For I don't know what to even feel or think. Sometimes, there is that deep sense withing that life "is" - on the "isness" of things, people, events, place, whatever... But still "it" eludes - and so I try to fill with meaning and purpose. Somehow, just sitting and doing nothing is so ridiculous. I am reminded of another friend of mine who once said: "We are so scared of ourselves, that we fill ourselves up every moment with anything that comes our way - anything that can occupy us." Even Krishnamurty used to say something similar. How convenient (and necessary) it is for us to "fill" ourselves up.

And so as I write this, I am "filling" myself up with the meaning of writing - the purpose of writing. Perhaps you will read this and comment on it. Good / Bad / Ugly - while all comments will have their affective level response from me, yet, underneath them all, I will smile inwardly - for the I would have gotten some meaning!

Perhaps my friend who asked me the question might also read this - and find some 'meaning'. Did I give her something to reflect upon and find meaning? Or did she invest in me to get this writeup for herself and find meaning? Having said that, the question comes back: What does it matter? And how does it matter? Maybe, it matters just as much as a candle matters - it burns and shows its alive and finds its significance. Maybe, that is why it matters. A candle of me!!! Aah.

A see a light flickering...