Comfort in the Unknown

One major thing I struggled with in the past was knowing what I should do in any given situation.

This isn't something that was particular to any specific avenue of life, but applied to everything. Whenever I would approach a situation, I felt I needed to rehearse all the possibilities and make sure I had some framework to work from.

This was especially the case with girls because it's when I felt most on-the-line, as though something was at stake (even though logically I could see nothing really was). I would think about all the things they could possibly say and prepare myself psychologically.

It was all in an attempt to appear to be 'on the ball' as much as possible. To not be caught off guard or lose control. I didn't want there to be any situation where I wouldn't have the perfect response. Kind of like being bulletproof.

At the root of that of course was fear. I was afraid that if I said or did something stupid I would mess something up. I was afraid that if I let go of being in control that I would make a fool of myself or lose the facade of pretending to be someone that actually feels secure deep down.

There's a metaphor about how the mind is like a computer. It processes input and reacts. I suppose you could say I wanted this computer to be the greatest it could be.

The problem with that is that it's a computer. And a computer isn't human.

If I am relying on a structure to determine my reactions, I can't be spontaneous and present in the moment. My mind is conditioned. It rigidly sticks to a pattern of behavior. There's no freedom or breathing room.

It's as though my mind has a framework, you could call the 'known'. And I am always reacting from the known. I always reference that framework to see how I should react to any situation. I try to make the known better and better. More clever, funnier, etc. It's fake.

But I am afraid to deviate from the known because I don't have a footing there. I don't know what will come up. It's kind of like herding sheep, and you want the sheep to stay in the fence. You want them to follow precisely. Because there is a fear that if you open the gates they will wander someplace, who knows where...

I didn't realize during those times that there is something supremely intelligent to the unknown.

For example, if I lose my train of thought mid-sentence, there is a silence, a space. At one point I found this space scary, because I felt that my control was about to slip. So I would try to grasp, to regain my footing and hold onto the pattern of the known. That fear is a visceral experience. The moment before the mind is about to go silent, there is a tremendous sense of anxiety. As if you're losing your balance and you're about to fall.

And so we cling to the known out of this fear of losing balance.

This can be observed quite easily in everyday interactions. When there is a lull in conversation, there is this sense of anxiety to fill the space.

But instead of grabbing back to the known, if you simply see this fear and let it pass on its own accord, there is this experience of pure tranquility. The noise disappears. Fear and anxiety is gone. Insecurity is gone. A kind of emptiness takes place first, where the mind is blank. And in that space, there is an opening to what one could call spontaneous intelligence.

Spontaneous intelligence is a movement from a quiet mind. A response, a thought perhaps, that seems to come out of nowhere. It can't be rehearsed. It is 100% sponatenous. It's difficult to describe, but easy to experience. It's just what occurs to you when the mind is silent, not occupied with the known.

Along with this, there also an experience of feeling 'tuned-in'. Rather than constantly trying to avoid the unknown, one is resting in it, comfortable in the silence, knowing that silence speaks when it needs to, if it needs to. The silence has its own resilience. It is a self-balancing mechanism.

So instead of conversing as a computer, you are being fully present as a human being. With no structure to determine what you should say next. There is a deep trust that in the silence, there will be a movement to speak. This means you can actually truly listen and be with another human being. This is true connection.

The other really nice attribute to this spontaneous intelligence is that when the known is gone, there is a feeling of great beauty. As if the murky clouds of the mind have disappeared and there is a certain quality of clarity. There is a feeling to the unknown - almost like butterflies - freshness. Again, difficult to describe, but easy to experience.

The joy of a simple conversation experienced from this state of mind is enough to make life worth living for. There doesn't need to be sex at the end. If it happens, great. If it doesn't, great.

The connection one feels when one is tuned into that spontaneous intelligence has a really nice feeling to it. It's really is a beautiful thing. We spend our whole lives trying to re-invent ourselves, to condition ourselves, to make ourselves act better. Meanwhile, there is this brilliant living spontaneous intelligence that exists in the silence behind the conditioned thought patterns.

As we begin to see this intelligence play out, how it responds to every situation with utter perfection, we naturally begin to trust it more and more. Then at some moment, there is this transformative shift, where one completely leaves behind this conditioned computer called 'I', and life becomes an expression of this living intelligence. Completely open. Completely trusting. Alive. This intelligence is effortlessly responding to life in real-time. And in that, a life-changing insight: "this is me."

I am not a structured thought pattern. I am this living spontaneousness. I am that which shows up out of the silence. And I am the silence.

The computer dissolves like a puff of nothingness, and there is this profound experience of feeling at home in the unknown, in the emptiness. Knowing that it's "always here", like a kind of foundation.

Since this realization two years ago, I haven't felt socially anxious. Because I feel so comfortable in the silence, in the unknown. And I know that when I feel anxious, it just means that I'm caught up in the computer. Then there is a returning to silence, and this spontaneous intelligence takes over.

From this place, conversations aren't superficial. It is not two strangers talking to each other through a facade, but a true authentic connection. They are truly deep and meaningful.