The Taste of Irony

My demands (mostly unconscious) of an author trying to explain the mysteries of the universe to me were that he or she not violate my personal "rules" of veracity. I guess another way of saying that is that my personal filters have been hardened by years of exposure to science and its rules. And I'd never encountered any overlap between science and philosophy, let alone between science and religion or spiritual matters. It's difficult to look back through former eyes to "see" something anew. Thirty or forty years ago, I think, I wouldn't have gotten through the first section of this book before passing it over for something more "substantial." Two years ago? I'm not sure. I suspect that my alarm bells would have gone off at reading: Let the ecstasy overflow and outshine the loveless self, driven mad with the torments of its self-embracing ways, hugging mightily samsara's spokes of endless agony, and sing instead triumphantly with Saint Catherine, "My being is God, not by simple participation, but by a true transformation of my Being. My me is God!" But I'm eager to lend this book--and buy more to lend--to those I think might get turned on to Wilber as I have. That's the irony. I'm delighted with the book, and grateful to its publisher Shambhala for giving me what I think can be a bridge between my enthusiasm and that of others. No, not, perhaps, those of my friends who think that if it can't be measured, it isn't real. Better that they begin with his technical writings, as I did, to some extent. Of course, I wouldn't have read Wilber in the beginning had it not been for the recommendation of a friend (definitely not a scientist-type).

Maybe that was the chink in my filters (my armor?). A respected friend, a casual invitation without urging, to check out some interesting ideas. Which changed my life, literally. For real.