6.522

6.521 The solution of the problem of life is seen in the vanishing of the problem. (Is not this the reason why those who have found after a long period of doubt that the sense of life became clear to them have then been unable to say what constituted that sense?)

6.522 There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.

6.53 The correct method in philosophy would really be the following: to say nothing except what can be said..

----Wittgenstein, Tractatus


The solution to life is that there may not be any solution, which is not to say that one doesn't still look for it.

The problem of life disappears once it stops being a problem. One has to learn to live with mystery.

Ethical reflection is neither word nor deed, but both.

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I saw the swami in a dream last night and felt compelled to retell this story. There are certain days, moments, gestures, that become 'canonical' in one's life-if such a phrase be permissible-and we often spend the rest of our lives trying to recall them or repeat them in one way or the other. And so I ask the swami again and again for the details..how did it all begin, then what happened...

Now, just as there is an inner essence to every thing, so there is the unshakable cynicism in every cynic-and that pretty much describes me. I'm even cynical of my cynicism-which is quite an achievement, let me tell you! I remember walking through the park near Soas and the precise time of day-and every time I walk there I recall that moment...

The Dougal prepared herself for her long journey to defend her thesis. Everything seemed to hinge on those few hours (though in truth they hardly ever do) and no-one wanted to speak about the dreaded possibility (how wise it is to know when not to speak!). But the swami did. She had seen in a dream the night before that the Dougal would be asked no questions whatsoever. 'Unlikely' is not the word to describe such an event occurring. But that is exactly what did happen. To the western mind such intuition and correspondences speak of a 'backward' mindset, a remnant of a mode of 'thinking' that it thinks it has 'transcended'. At best, one might concede to analyse such a series of events but Blake was, after all, right: he who sees Ratio, sees only himself. Must we learn again that there are things beyond the bounds of our knowledge; that mysteries can never be explained, only deepened?

When I tell this story to my friends here there is no surprise, no incredulity . All they say, in a matter of fact way is: is it not written that the true prayers of a mother are always listened to? No 'philosophical' investigation, no psychological probing or quest to know what in this story is a fact and what isn't.

There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.