The quest for something more

Sit on a beach and watch the waves roll in. Stand on a hillside and watch the wind rustle the tree tops, see the birds dance in the sky. Perch on a river bank and listen to the sound of the current flowing over the rocks. Walk at night, pause and gaze up at the stars. What do you feel when you do these things? What do you tell yourself as you stop, look and listen?

For the past few years, I’ve been on a quest. But not a traditional one. Traditional quests have objectives like find the cure, rescue the kidnapped, save the world, get the girl, fulfil your dreams. My quest has been devoid of such objectives. But not without direction. See, I’ve been searching for something more.

Something more than the average life. Something more than widely available knowledge. Something more than the normal career. Something more than the typical feeling. But whenever I’ve sat on a beach, stood on a hillside, listened to a river or gazed up at the stars, I’ve always got the impression that my quest is futile. Naive. Whenever I stop and think I get the impression that I’m fooling myself thinking I can find something more, something different, something higher.

In fact, there are just three words that come to me whenever I’m on a beach, a hillside, by a river or walking under the stars. Scratch that. These three words come to me when I’m drinking a cup of tea, when I’m having lunch with friends, when I’m cooking with Molly. I find myself, in all of these situations, thinking, “This is it.”

There is nothing else. This, whatever it is you’re doing right now, is life, existence in all it’s totality. There is no hidden realm, no higher consciousness that we’re cut off from. There is only the awareness of the existing moment. Nothing more. It doesn’t matter whether you’re doing something grand like looking down from a mountain top, or doing something banal like emptying your bladder into the toilet bowl.

This is life. This is living. This is it.