Who do you know you would consider wise?
I must admit that I enjoy exploring the structural foundations of language. No etymologic expert, I am more the casual linguistic journeyman, a ruffled hair, wrinkled-shirted Sunday morning amateur who finds fun in the occasional rummage online so easily accomplished from the comfort of one’s couch, favorite chair, or rumple-pillowed bed. A cup of tea stimulates the insides. A subtle infusion of caffeine suffuses the boundary separating sleep from thought. Questions float into an awareness that I have come to consider my own. And the great Google search engine connects me, somewhat instantaneously, fairly miraculously, to a world of expertise loitering just beyond the tips of my fingers.
To be wise originally meant “to see”.
Perhaps your brain conjured an image of a blind Greek sage when you learned that the root meaning of wisdom is related to vision. Mine did. Fascinating how, when told that wisdom first meant to see, I might imagine an aged oracle who does not need eyesight in order to see, to perceive, even to know what is true.
Yes, the original meaning of wise, I know, did not include anything about truth. But it seems apropos, does it not, for the concept of truth, of what actually “is”, to be part of what it means, fundamentally, to see?
This past week brought me its routine share of wisdom encounters. I call them routine because they are usually there, snippets of the wise of seeing, if I let myself recognize them. Please don’t misunderstand me: the exposure of the wise in the world is not anything for which I feel personal ability. Rather, it is what others, often quite innocently or unintentionally, reveal to me. The odd phrase, the emotional outburst, the tilted-head observation, and especially, yes, most especially, the share-preceded-by-the-sigh — these are all examples of how wisdom is active in my life. Are you not familiar with the share-preceded-by-the-sigh? I bet you are. Think of a time when someone, maybe even you yourself, inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and with the exhalation said something personal, or meaningful, or true, or difficult to say. It is as if we inspire into and through the pores of our being, occasionally expanding the collective lungs of human history, when we take such deep breaths, when we gather an expression or idea from the previously veiled awareness of the unexpressed, when we dip the formless fingers of our souls into the cool touch of transparent sincerity and we let something that is seen by the inner eye be honestly and simply said.
Not all that is wise, however, is dredged from such deep wells. Children often say things, or ask things, without extraordinary effort. Adults can do the same, when they stop worrying about how they may be judged. There is beauty in the humble observation that the warmth of the autumn sun feels good on the exposed arm, that the sound of the overhead plane reminds me of lying closed-eyed in the afternoon summer grass of my childhood home, that the cradle of my wife’s hand the first time we hiked together are all comforting, are all still with me, are all part of the good fortune that has been my life. There is wisdom, perhaps, when we feel and say these things, and then how we observe, internally or aloud, how wonderful it is to feel and say these things, how lucky we are to be able to feel and say these things, how mysteriously marvelous it is to feel and say these things – without having to explain them.
I am never met a blind sage seated by the side of the dusty road, or a cross-legged guru perched atop a rocky mountain, such as the wise men and women of an ancient tale or tradition. I’m not opposed to the experience; it just hasn’t happened. What has happened though, what continues to happen, is that, regularly, I meet and interact with some pretty insightful fellow travelers who are, like me, stuck in the daily muck of this thing we call a human life. And so many of these people – people such as you! – “see”, and then say, the most amazing things.
Thank you for your wisdom. Thank you for sharing that wisdom when you are not trying to be wise. The gift of true sight is perhaps best shared humbly, freely, and without attachment. Just sensing that makes me inhale a deep breath, hold it, and feel blessed to be alive.