There are two forms of emptiness. One is psychological emptiness, and this poses a problem. The other is spiritual emptiness, and this is full of promise.
In psychological emptiness, we sense there’s something missing from our life. We feel an inner void that leads us to seek out distractions, to fill the void with something, anything. We use food, alcohol, entertainment, and any of the other thousands ways.
This desire to fill the emptiness can easily lead us to dependency, numbness, problems - including the core problem that we never actually get filled. Distractions don’t satisfy the void, and we continue feeling un-whole, un-full.
But the good news is we can find that sweet sense of wholeness and fullness. And the funny thing is, it’s right there in another kind of emptiness - the spiritual kind, that experience that has always so excited the mystics.
This emptiness comes with a letting go of distractions, of our neediness, of our preferences that wire us to crave satisfaction and inevitably lead to dissatisfaction. This is an emptiness that arises out of a peaceful, here-and-now experience. It paradoxically feels simple yet rich, satiating yet open to possibility. Empty yet full.
Recently, I was lucky to enjoy some time in Vermont with a couple of close friends. We had wonderful time together and time apart. I experienced both forms of emptiness one afternoon.
As I was sitting by the lake, I started thinking about all of the things I needed to get done. My mind started to race. The amazing beauty of the lake in front of me was consumed by a foreboding mental drumbeat, that I was missing important work.
To fill that emptiness, I went to one of my favorite “fillers.” I went and got a bowl of potato chips and some fizzy water. (And I do have to say I enjoyed both!) However, my enjoyment was punctuated time and again by the anxious drumbeat.
And then a moment of clarity came. I found myself saying aloud, “I need to go for a walk!” I extracted myself from the ruminations, the chips, and hungry emptiness. And I walked.
It was lightly raining. The ground was soggy. The leaves below my feet and above me in the maple trees were radiant with color. As I took in the fall color, the wetness, the soft sound of rain, and the earthy smells, I felt something open up in me.
There was a profound peace and calm, a moment both empty and full.
In this empty fullness, I knew that the work I was fretting about would get done, as it always does, in its own sweet time. I knew that that hungry emptiness I felt was one of those small episodes that punctuates my big life.
I knew that I was blessed beyond measure, and I whispered a word of thanks for Vermont, my friends, my family, and the life I was living.
That sacred emptiness, that love of the mystics, fulfilled its promise for me in Vermont. I promise you don’t need to go all the way there to find it yourself. As always, it’s as close as here-and-now.