An Experience of Surpassing Preciousness

                                                                                   I came across this passage recently taken from Eugene O'Neill's novel Long Day's Journey Into Night that I find perfectly describes the experience of losing oneself on the journey of self discovery. The imagery is sublime. Enjoy.

 I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the Trades. The old hooker driving 14 knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself—actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved into the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to Life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way. 

Another seminal experience that Shukman had which ultimately became the opening chapter of The Lost City is described below.

It was on the last afternoon of a boat tour in the islands that I found myself alone on a beach. The sun was low enough to shed a broad, scintillating path of light on the ocean. I stared at it, fascinated. I had recently finished writing what would become my first book and was inordinately happy. I had not only found my metier but had begun to put it into effect. I was also happy to be alone. It felt like I had put down a great weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. I hadn’t known until then to what extent I normally trammeled my mind, steering it in channels that enabled communication with others. Suddenly a great liberation opened, blissful. I forgot all plans for the future; all hope, all fear vanished. The joy somehow carried a promise of eternity, as if I were nose-up against the beginning and end of time.

I was staring at the shifting, dazzling scales of light on the surface of the sea. Water was transparent, as was air, and come to think of it, so was light. The three substances were in effect invisible. The surface of the sea was nothing but the sheet, infinitesimally thin, where they met. How come I could see anything at all?

As I stared in amazement, it felt as if I—the center of my consciousness—were not where I thought I dwelt, in my body, but had been swallowed by the world. An extraordinary feeling of belonging arose. I belonged utterly, right where I was, and everywhere, and always had.

Then I looked at my hand. It too was no different from everything else. It was one and the same as the sand, the sea, the rocks. It felt like everything, hand included, was engaged in one single declaration of love. The whole world was the single hand. There was nothing else. And somehow, I could hear not only it, but everything. It was the only sound in the universe.