The Quest

I tried to construct an intricate model, but it was nothing but a card castle, easily collapsed, with no real beauty, only the ability to fascinate momentarily; a novelty, yes, but no work of art. So tonight I write what’s on my heart. If not genius, If not classic material, at least it will be heartfelt. And what else matters.

My spiritual quest is my becoming, and my search for the joy that does not fade. I seek to open my heart, sharpen my senses and feel the world around me, to feel the people around me. Not only to study, but to live.

My spiritual quest is my attempt to touch butterfly wings—without breaking them. It is the tolling of my own liberty bell – purposeful, true, and meaningful. I spiritual quest is cutting through all the chains that bind me—fear, sin, selfishness—with a ballpoint pen. It is my search for divinity within myself and within others.

Our trip to aspen grove was a spiritual way mark for me. Yes, now I can say that I’ve been on an eight hour hike, but that wasn’t the real beauty of the trip. Neither were the mountains, though lovely, my summit. Instead, it was the people—the dear, sweet people.

I came to understand that I was among the best of mankind. I was among the kind and the genuine, the accepting and the spiritual. Until Aspen grove I did not know that the ability to give a heartfelt compliment was a spiritual gift. In the mountains I discovered that my professor is a human being. I grew to love, wholeheartedly, this class these people. Wistful as it may sound, part of me wishes that people weren’t graduating, weren’t leaving, so that we could continue class every day for the rest of our lives. Or perhaps, in the spirit of my quest book, just every Tuesday.

My intellectual quest is not separate from my spiritual quest; knowledge without meaning is nothing. My intellectual journey has been one of growth and collapse. I nurture a field of corn, a decent crop for the year. But come next year all my knowledge has decomposed. I’m just now learning that breakdown is not failure; it is simply the key to fertile ground and growth.

I’m just now understanding lessons from years ago. I quit gymnastics when I was twelve but there on sweaty mats was the key to learning: The gymnast will hit the ground, does hit the ground, but the real gymnast stands again and again, and again. So it is with the scholar.

I hope that each member of this class lives the life of a star. Not the celebrity kind, but the kind which burns in the night sky. I pray that we spend our lives in fusion, in bringing together ideas, feelings, and people. Perhaps some days our souls will expand, as though they encompass eternity. Other times they may collapse, seemingly tragic. Expand, collapse, expand, collapse. What we cannot forget is this: more soul-elements form with each collapse. There is growth in each challenge. Then one day we’ll supernova, and for a moment be spectacular Illuminated stardust. But in the end, people as great as these here, these dear sweet people, will collapse, not into pain, but into black holes: invisible, powerful, and all absorbing