The Navel and the Whole

In the course of daily life, concepts such as knowledge, self-knowledge, and the practice of goodness ought never to be forgotten. Yet not only are they neglected — they are actively abandoned, especially when they stand at odds with the ambitions of humankind. And therein lies the blind spot of human pride: the self — the ever-contemplated navel.

I see it manifest in the most absurd of circumstances, where there is no sincere interest in understanding the other. The affluent denigrate the poor; the poor resent the affluent. But where, I ask, is our shared humanity? Where is the recognition that the destiny of one is bound to the destiny of all?

That recognition remains — dimmed, tucked away in some forgotten recess — awaiting the rekindling of light.

When I welcome a homosexual patient, I see someone in search of that very light, navigating life in a conservative, restrictive city that offers little room to breathe. When I receive someone ensnared in substance use, I encounter the silence of abandonment, the isolation imposed by a society that turns away. And when I attend to a child, I perceive the indelible imprints of their parents — not hidden, but glaring — shaping their posture, their spirit, their view of the world.

All of it is so terribly common. So quietly sanctioned. And yet so woefully devoid of any real expansion of consciousness. Each human story reduced to a separate inconvenience, a case apart, a silenced dialogue buried in the anxious rhythms of modern life.

It is not intelligence we lack. It is depth.

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