The Inutility of Being: Contemplative Practices as a Celebration of the Absolute

Participate in a living work of art. Silence is not merely a pause; it is an act of rebellion against the economy of attention. We often find ourselves trapped in a world that feels superficial, a landscape of vulgar noise where every moment is a transaction and every breath is a preparation for the next. We seek ontological experiences, something transformative that cuts through the commercialized veneer of "wellness." But who is it that is seeking? And what if the very act of seeking is the veil that hides the totality? When we sit in silence, we are often told we are practicing something. We call these contemplative practices, but let us be frank: if we use them as a tool to reach a destination, we have already lost the essence. There is no this moment because enlightenment is not a place. It is not a trophy for the disciplined body-mind. It is what is already here when the separate self stops trying to "attain" peace. We might feel better after sitting quietly; the mind might become more lucid, like a luminous steel thread in an empty space. That is pleasant, certainly. It may even bring a sense of genius or clarity. But it is not a ladder. There is no "you" that can climb out of the human condition into a state of permanent liberation. The idea that we can achieve a "conscious presence" through effort is a mirage. If the realization is not of the "I," but from the "I," who is left to claim the prize? To say "I am enlightened" is a contradiction in terms. If the separate self is an illusion, how can an illusion wake up? Perhaps what we call liberation is simply what is already happening while we are busy looking for it. It is an immenso silenzio, a vast silence that interrupts the sadness of our constant, frantic motion. We are so devoted to keeping our lives in motion, to "killing time" as if time were an enemy to be conquered. We fill every gap with activity because we are terrified of what happens when the engines stop. If we truly stop—not as a strategy, but as a total falling away—we might encounter anxiety, boredom, or a cold sense of isolation. These are just waves on the surface of the absolute. If we don't avoid these waves, if we allow ourselves to fall through them, we might find ourselves in a state of free fall. This is the "cloud of unknowing" that the mystics spoke of. To see the totality, one must, in a sense, stop seeing. As long as you are looking at a shell or a piece of seaweed, you aren't seeing the ocean. To see the ocean, you must stop focusing on the objects within it. In this context, contemplative practices are not a "doing" to get a "having." They are a celebration. Think of a dance. You do not dance to reach a specific spot on the floor; you dance for the joy of the movement itself. You do not listen to music just to reach the final note. In the same way, sitting in silence can be a wonderfully useless ornament of reality. It is a play, a game where there is no winner because the point is the playing.