It Is and It Is Not

      I remember a time when I had been attending a Christian Church, and I had taken part in Bible studies classes many years ago, in my very early twenties. And there was this moment when I was riding the subway home when I was reflecting on the certainty of the faith, then the sensation of seeing the shadows on the Plexi-glass mirrors, somewhat distorted. And I had this somewhat strange experience. I think the experience was something like realizing that what is written in a book is so starkly different from what is happening in my sensed experience of things.  I wondered how long anyone can really linger in the pure or felt senses, without resorting back to explanatory frameworks of books. I think it probably does not (and cannot) take very long before one does have to go back to a cultural framework to make sense of the world and scaffold things. But the experience of stark discord between the neatness of reading and the rawness of experiences did strike a chord for me on that day.
    I almost tend to believe that there are two ways of looking at things, especially difficulties and challenges that I face. One is to see that there are definite principles out there, of which the phenomena are only signs. This might be similar to a Platonic view of things, seeing that the shadows are only pointing to a true essence in all things. The second way is to see that the essence is in the shadows themselves. In fact, whatever that essence happens to be is none other than the shadows. The difference is that with the second view, I am no longer separating the real from the false, or the shadows from a crystalline essence. Instead, I am seeing a kind of wholeness even in the fragile reflections of things.
    Whenever I experience some difficulties in life, I often try to find the principle that will clarify the situation for me, or at least bring it into greater relief. Most theories seem to serve as these maps which sketch out a terrain and provide select information to help me guide myself. An example might be a regular street map, which emphasizes location names, or a contour relief map, which reflects on slopes and terrains. But I am lately beginning to feel that this way of doing things or approaching problems is somehow violent: it is like trying to substitute a theory for a lived experience, which is not emerging in the same way as a theory does. Do all theories need to be so crystalline and so spelled out? Or are some theories capable of recognizing their own limitations, seeing that they co-exist among overlapping causes and conditions?
    I think that the expectation that theories can resolve life issues may be too high at times. The notion of theory-as-solution to life problems also ends up becoming prescriptive, somewhere along the line. Once someone establishes a model for identifying a problem and solving it, one then starts to solidify it into lifestyles and choices to live. It becomes an ethic. Sooner or later, people feel ashamed if a proposed theory does not work for them to solve their problems. They may feel, I am not doing this enough times or with enough regularity...not realizing the complex factors that often do make up a problem. Not only am I alienated by the problem itself, but I am also unable to follow the complicated ethics that circle around the proposed solution. That can easily make me an outcast on both accounts.
     The best way to describe the role of theory in life, is something like: it is and it is not. While theories fit certain bills, there is always an exception to that process, and minds can only approximate the kinds of idealizations imposed by the theory. I may perfectly know how to do something and even know the theoretical value of some idea (such as meditation). But without the real daily practice, the theories are not really true for me.