The Promise
There seems to be a fascination with promises
Not just any promise.
A promise of arrival.
A promise of completion.
A promise of freedom.
The more clearly the destination is defined, the more attractive it often becomes.
Peace.
Awakening.
Enlightenment.
Liberation.
The end of suffering.
finding "your" true self
A result is offered.
A future is imagined.
A path appears.
Soon there is someone who may arrive.
Someone who may attain.
Someone who may finally become what they are not yet.
This is not a criticism.
The promise appears.
The attraction appears.
The longing appears.
Like any other appearance.
The question is different.
Why do promises seem to carry such weight?
Perhaps because a promise does something.
It organizes the future.
It gives direction.
It gives meaning.
It gives hope.
A vague promise attracts.
A precise promise often attracts even more.
The clearer the destination, the easier it becomes to imagine oneself there.
Again and again the same movement appears.
A future is described.
Then a self is imagined moving toward it.
The destination and the traveler seem to arrive together.
Yet every promise is also a description.
Every destination is a description.
Every end state is a description.
This does not make them false.
The question remains What exactly is being promised?
And to whom?
Sometimes the promise is wrapped in beautiful language.
Poetic language.
Mystical language.
Language capable of inducing wonder, longing, and certainty.
The words may be different.
The movement often feels familiar.
There is something missing.
There is somewhere else to arrive.
There is something to attain.
Then another description appears:
"There is only what is happening."
A new ground.
A new resting place.
A new slogan.
Soon it too may be repeated.
Quoted.
Defended.
Believed.
Until another sentence appears.
Then another.
Then another.
Again and again the same movement.
A description appears.
A certainty gathers around it.
Then the certainty fades.
Another description appears.
Perhaps this is why no sentence seems able to hold its position for very long.
Not because it is wrong.
Not because it is right.
But because the next sentence is already arriving.
The next explanation.
The next promise.
The next ground.
As long as there is a functioning body, there seem to be thoughts, tendencies, preferences, longings, aversions, interests, and the absence of interests.
All appearing.
All disappearing.
None announcing themselves as the final word.
Perhaps that is what makes the search for the final description so fascinating.
The sentence arrives.
The sentence feels complete.
Then another sentence arrives.
