Self-Participation
I share with you the different ways to participate with others. Now slowly coming towards self-participation.
Have you ever seen night going? Very few people even become aware of things which are happening every day. Have you ever seen the evening coming? The midnight and its song? The sunrise and its beauty? We are behaving almost like blind people. In such a beautiful world we are living in small ponds of our own misery. It is familiar, so even if somebody wants to pull you out, you struggle. You don’t want to be pulled out of your misery, of your suffering. Otherwise there is so much joy all around, you have just to be aware of it and to become a participant, not a spectator.
Philosophy is speculation, Zen is participation. Participate in the night leaving, participate in the evening coming, participate in the stars and participate in the clouds; make participation your lifestyle and the whole existence becomes such a joy, such an ecstasy. You could not have dreamed of a better universe.
You will have to become a participant. Meaning comes through participation. Participate in life! Participate as deeply, as totally, as possible. Risk all for participation. If you know how to participate in life you will know key to participate in death.
Have more interests in life. Be participants. Don’t be always a businessman. Sometimes play too. Don’t be just a doctor or an engineer, or a headmaster, or a professor – be as many things as possible! Play cards, play the violin, sing a song, be an amateur photographer, a poet.. Find as many things as possible in life, and then you will have richness. And meaning is a by-product of richness.
A very meaningful story about Socrates:
Socrates, while awaiting death in prison, was haunted by a dream that kept urging him, “Socrates, make music!” The old man felt he had always served art with his philosophizing. But now, spurred on by that mysterious voice, he turned fables into verse, indicted a hymn to Apollo, and played the flute.
In the face of death, philosophy and music briefly went hand in hand, and Socrates was as blissful as never before.
He had never played on the flute. Something inside him persisted, “Socrates, make music!” Just in the face of death! It looked so ridiculous. And he had never played, he had never made music. A part of his being had remained suffocated. Yes, even a man like Socrates, had remained one-dimensional. The denied part insisted, “Enough of logic – a little music will be good, will bring balance. Enough of argumentation – play on the flute.” And the voice was so persistent that he had to yield to it. He participated in death.
