Journeys in the Search for the Meaning of Life. A story of those who have found it. Rami Bleckt

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Between them an interesting conversation began. Since they were but an arm's length from me, it was easy to hear.

      "Yes, I know the meaning and I have a goal in life," said "the wise one."

      He said it so self-assuredly and calmly that I felt he was speaking from clear conviction, imparting faith in his words.

      The boy's father asked, "You have, no doubt, found your special purpose in life?" "No, but in my opinion I know the overall reason for people's lives. Moreover, each of us has a special purpose and it is very important that each of us finds it."

      At the words 'special purpose', the man and the young woman, perked up. The young woman, it turned out, was also a Russian speaker. I have often noticed that if a woman has that kind of a beauty, she is Slavic.

      The man and the boy nearly shouted out in one voice:

      "So what is the meaning of life? What is our special purpose?"

      "Tell us, tell us," the boy implored, nearly crying.

      The man sitting beside me also asked, "Pardon me for interfering, but I'm interested, too. Tell us; I'm sure it will be interesting to everyone. How did you arrive at your conviction, and how do you know that everyone can find his own special purpose?"

      "For that, I need to tell you about my whole life, that will take quite some time."

      At this, he was earnestly encouraged to continue; after all, there was plenty of time, and everyone would be glad.

      Just as the plane finally taxied onto the runway and began accelerating for take off, "the wise one" consented to tell his story, which pleased the passengers greatly. As the plane sped down the runway, he sat back, closed his eyes, and appeared to be concentrating fully. When the plane finally took off, he opened his eyes, attentively looked out the window, and began his story. It all proceeded so smoothly, you could tell that he was completely engrossed in his thoughts.

      A spectacular sunset was streaming through the windows. The clouds were adorned with streaks of the setting sun. It was the last day of winter. And for those of us who listened to the story, life now became divided into two parts – before and after this encounter.

      "The wise one" spoke quite calmly and thoughtfully, pausing at times for almost a full minute. Including breaks for meals, the story took some five hours.

      The stewardesses didn't understand Russian and simply looked on with interest at the company gathered together. No one ordered alcoholic drinks the whole flight; it was clear that they wanted to understand what he was telling them.

      Later, after this flight, and with his consent, I met with "the wise man" and recorded this story. In fact, the basis of this story is really a set of recordings by Arthur (the actual name of "the wise man"), which he scrupulously laid down. Later, he gave me copies, asking only that I change the names of the characters in the story.

* * *

      Let me briefly tell you about the fellow passengers with whom I later became friends. We each shared our life's stories, after which it was plain, once again, that life is not just a random event and God doesn't bring people together by sheer accident.

      The young woman, whom we'll call Natasha, had flown to Canada from Europe to perform as a model in a show. Several shootings had been planned.

      She was a successful economist, though this was not evident by looking at her. However, lately she had begun to feel that her life was not fulfilling. She was almost 30 and had achieved more than she had earlier imagined she could: she had graduated with honors from a prestigious institute and gotten a good job. There, they valued her, above all for a financial plan she'd devised which had brought the company success. Yet, out of personal curiosity, she had decided to give the modeling business a try. (She had always understood this to be a dream profession that most girls were willing to make every sacrifice to get into.) A girlfriend from way back in school, now a manager of a large agency, had invited her to give it a try.

      Natasha now had an enviable portfolio which attracted the right people. She'd had a successful whirlwind tour of Europe and now this show in Canada. It would seem that she had achieved a dream – money and fame – but with it had come a certain dissatisfaction in life. She sat on the plane and though to herself.

      "What's my life for? Why did I go on this trip? Here I am, 30 already, but – what now? Her thoughts were disturbing her. What's my purpose in life? Why was I born? Is everything really without meaning – 'make money and get famous', however you can, as my girlfriends would put it?" The way she saw it, her friends and colleagues paid more attention to playing at life than to finding happiness in it.

* * *

      The man sitting to my right, Sergey, also had an interesting story to tell.

      He was wondering how the second half of his life was rushing by so much faster than the first half, and the older he got, the more he noticed this. Hardly would one year begin than it would seem the end was already there.

      He could only remember a couple bright spots in the current year. It was all like a trip on a super-fast express train, zooming along faster and faster, whereas his childhood had been, as if, on a quiet and slowly moving train. "Why is that? Where is the train rushing off to?" he asked himself, trying to find a logical answer to it all. Yet, the more he tried to sort it out, he only got himself more frustrated. So he tried to find answers from another source, one which had never attracted him before – a spiritual book. He prayed and sincerely asked God for help in understanding this matter. Then he decided just to observe the world around him and wait for a reply.

      A few days later, here he was on this flight. He'd found a Russian newspaper which, by chance, had been left in the flap in front of his seat despite the work of the cleaning crew. It was some obscure regional paper from Russia and it was curious how it had gotten on a flight to London.

      Sergey couldn't have cared less about that region's news. He didn't even want to read a newspaper. He was intent on finishing a book which he had to give back to a friend upon his return. Yet, the paper attracted his attention. He opened it in the middle, and there he saw a large article comparing child and adult psychology. The article hooked him with its first few lines. It lay out a number of interesting facts.

      In general, children laugh naturally, openly, about 400 times a day, whereas for adults it's only 10–20 times at most, even if you count grins. Kids can jump into a creative mode – drawing, making clay models, and so on – at the drop of a hat, and enjoy it You can hardly expect to find an adult who would do this without expecting something in return – money, success, fame, etc.

      Children live, as a rule, consciously, naturally, uninhibited by their emotions. Except for food, attention, and care, a child's complete development needs close emotional contact with both parents.

      Adults live mechanically, always dreaming of the future and regretting the past, generally never living in the present moment. They slip on various masks, and would hardly be able to answer the question of who they really are. Children are always asking questions and always open to learning new things. The majority of adults have formed their view or vision of the world by age 40. (A survey showed that this occurred at various ages – some while they were still in grade school, some at midlife, and others only at age 80 or so.) Afterward, it is quite difficult to pull yourself off this track, and to some degree, you never do completely. Any event is formulated in terms of their own experience – a mental filter, if you will – through which they see the world and rarely truly ask themselves honest questions about their perceptions and emotions.

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