Truth, wisdom, goodness, beauty, the fragrance of a rose - all resemble spirituality in that they are intangible, ineffable realities. We may know them, but we can never grasp them with our hands or with our words. These entities have neither colour nor texture; they cannot be gauged in inches or ounces or degrees; they do not make a noise to be measured in decibels; they have no distinct feel as do silk, wood or cement; they have no taste, they occupy no space. And yet they exist; they are. Love exists, evil exists, beauty exists, spirituality exists. These are the realities that have always been recognised as defining human existence. We do not define them, they define us. When we attempt to define spirituality, we discover not its limits, but our own. Similarly, we cannot prove such realities - it is truer to say that they prove us, in the sense that it is against them tha we measure our human be-ing: the act and the process by which we exist. Life is not what we have, or even what we do, connected as these may be: we are what and how and who we are, and be-ing is a real activity. Like love, spirituality is a way that we be. This way of be-ing defies definition and delineation; we cannot tie it up, in any way package it or enclose it. Elusive in the sense that it cannot be pinned down, spirituality slips under and soars over efforts to capture it, to fence it in with words. Centuries of thought confirm that mere words can never induce the experience of spirituality. Justice for the 96..... YNWA.
