WE SPEND AN IMPORTANT PART of our lives looking for the truth. But which truth? The one people try to impose on us through education, morality, religion or spiritual practices? Or the one we discover by ourselves? Does truth exist? If it did, it would present itself as an absolute that no one would be able to contradict. We rapidly become aware that no matter what our truth is, believers in different truths will be quick to attack it. Our efforts to make a solid and unassailable system are useless. No mental fortress can resist for long. We get exhausted seeking. We get exhausted defending. Is there not another path that would coincide with joy?
Huang Po, a well-known Chan master of the ninth century, goes straight to the heart of the issue by quoting one of his illustrious predecessors: ‘It is useless to look for the truth; one just needs to not cherish opinions about it.’ Every opinion involves a partial view. When we give up this view, the body-spirit calms down and relaxes, leaving room for joy. Huang Po adds: ‘Our essence is open like space, that’s all.’
A large part of our mental agitation stems from our imperious desire to find the truth. It is as if we were trying to isolate a star in the sky, so that we could give it the status of Absolute Star. Obtaining wisdom is to float: to not cling on to the opinions of others but not focussing on our own. Thoughts become more fluid; they pass by without encrusting themselves. The body looks at them with the same sense of wonderment as when it looks at space. Any mental and bodily tension prevents joy from becoming manifest. In order to arise, joy needs the openness of both the spirit and the body.
In my relationships with others, what is the part of my discourse that attempts to impose my truth?
In what way do conflicting truths constrain me?
What is the connection between my ability to listen and the abandonment of my fixed ideas?
What happens when I replace the word ‘truth’ with the word ‘authenticity’? And what if everything were true?