The Prison of Knowing

Human beings are extraordinary creatures.

We have developed language, philosophy, science, mathematics, and technologies that allow us to investigate and transform our surroundings.

We learn by defining things.

We understand by categorizing.

We establish confidence by comparing our beliefs against evidence.

These abilities are essential to our existence.

But what happens when we attempt to apply the same methods to something that, by definition, transcends the world those methods were developed to investigate?

What happens when we try to understand an unknowable God through mental representations?

I can describe love.

I can study its psychological effects.

I can investigate its biological correlates.

I can even explain how human attachment develops.

But none of those descriptions is the experience of loving or being loved.

The description is not the relationship.

The map is not the destination.

And a thought about God is not necessarily an encounter with God.

This was the heart of my fear during meditation.

I understood that the mind can generate convincing experiences.

It can produce images, emotions, sensations, and powerful feelings of certainty.

Therefore, even the sensation of divine connection cannot, by itself, establish that a connection with God has occurred.

But here is the difficulty.

If I attempt to verify the connection by producing another thought, another sensation, or another extraordinary experience, I remain within the same problem.

I am using the mind to prove that I have moved beyond the mind.

And if a sign appeared, how could I be certain of its origin?

Had rain fallen that night, I might have felt overwhelming joy.

But eventually, I could have asked whether it was coincidence.

And then I might have requested another sign.

And another.

At what point would I have been satisfied?

Perhaps the demand for certainty has no natural endpoint.

Perhaps fear can always invent one more question.