The Choice
The Choice
At the heart of this story lies a single, simple idea: that we are here to choose. Not to achieve, not to accumulate, not to prove anything to anyone. Just to choose. To decide, through the living of our lives, which way we want to face.
The choice, as the traditions describe it, is not between good and evil — though it may look that way from certain angles. It is between two different orientations, two different ways of relating to existence. One reaches outward, toward others. One draws inward, toward self.
The outward path sees other beings as extensions of oneself. It feels their joys and sorrows as its own. It naturally wants to share, to help, to connect. When this orientation deepens over time, it becomes what the traditions call service to others — not as a duty or obligation, but as the natural expression of how one sees the world.
The inward path sees other beings as separate, as resources to be used or obstacles to be overcome. It gathers power to itself, controls what it can, dominates where possible. When this orientation deepens, it becomes what the traditions call service to self — a consistent philosophy of placing one's own advancement above all else.
Most of us live somewhere in between. We are kind sometimes and selfish at other times. We reach out in love and then pull back in fear. We want to serve others but also want to protect ourselves. This is normal. This is human. But according to this telling, the purpose of our time here is to gradually clarify our orientation, to become more consistent in which direction we face.
The traditions are clear that both paths are valid, in a cosmic sense. Both lead eventually to the same destination. The infinite does not condemn those who choose the inward path — how could it condemn any part of itself? But the paths are very different in experience. The outward path generates more light, more joy, more connection. The inward path generates more isolation, more struggle, more eventual reversal when its limits are reached.
What makes this stage of the journey so significant is the forgetting we spoke of earlier. We make our choice without certain knowledge of where it leads. We choose love without proof that love will be returned. We choose trust without guarantee that trust is warranted. This is what gives the choice its weight, its meaning, its power.
The choice is not made once, in some dramatic moment of commitment. It is made again and again, in the small moments of daily life. In how you treat the stranger. In what you do when no one is watching. In the thoughts you think when you are alone. These small choices accumulate into something larger — the overall direction of your being.
If this story is true, then your life is not meaningless. Every difficulty you face is an opportunity to choose. Every relationship is a chance to practice love or withhold it. Every moment offers the question again: Which way will you turn?
There is no need to be perfect. The traditions suggest that even a slight majority of outward orientation — slightly more than half of your moments spent reaching toward others rather than grasping for self — is enough to establish the direction. We are not asked to be saints. We are asked to try, to keep trying, to face the right direction even when we stumble.
The choice is yours. It has always been yours. And whatever you choose, you remain what you have always been: a spark of the infinite, finding its way home.