The Interconnected Nature of Reality

In this installment of Zen and the Art of Dissatisfaction, I explore how ancient philosophical and religious traditions illuminate the complex interplay between human perception, duality, and the experience of oneness. Drawing on insights from David Loy’s work Nonduality, Stephen Mitchell’s translations, and my own ethnographic research on the San people of the Kalahari, I will investigate the ways in which ordinary and spiritual realities intertwine and how cultural and economic structures shape our sense of dissatisfaction.

Photo by Mikko Ijäs

Philosopher David Loy observes in his book Nonduality (1988) how, in the Daodejing by the Chinese philosopher Laozi, composed approximately 2,500 years ago, the odd-numbered lines – such as 1, 3, 5, and 7 – describe an interconnected nonduality, an indefinable essence known as the Tao. This Tao is said to be the source of heaven and the world, a reality understood as spiritual unity. Experiences that reveal this Taoist nonduality emerge only when a person has no deliberate striving to attain it.

In contrast, the even-numbered lines – 2, 4, 6, and 8 – point to another perspective of the experience of this world, in which we perceive everything as a collection of separate, independent entities that nonetheless interact with one another. These two perspectives and experiences of reality form a web of interactions, ultimately constituting a single, unified whole. Loy argues that this view of the world, also referred to in Buddhism as samsara, is a dualistic world in which the experiencer and the external world are distinguished from each other. A dualistic world is characterised by distinctions and definitions between objects and concepts. It tends to categorise things into opposites – good and bad, right and wrong, evil and just, large and small, black and white, rich and poor, and so on. This perspective enables classifications, lists, and categories.

Language, Metaphor, and the Limits of Duality

Linguist and translator Stephen Mitchell notes (1991) agrees we instinctively interpret language through a dualistic lens. We take metaphors literally because language is itself a dualistic method. Linguistic systems rely on distinctions and categories, which makes it challenging to describe phenomena beyond their reach. Over time, the metaphors of original religious experience may vanish in literary traditions.

For this reason, some religious traditions emphasise the practitioner’s own trust in their personal experience over written knowledge. In such practices, experiential knowledge is transmitted from teacher to student. In esoteric religions, teachings are intended only for the initiated; nothing is revealed to outsiders, to prevent misinterpretation of metaphors.

In Zen Buddhism, the student must personally perceive the true nature of life. Even the teacher cannot grant it. The teacher can only gently guide the student toward their personal insight.

Insight and the Path of Practice

Such insight is not something that can be understood in a conventional sense. There is no book to read that mystically unlocks the gates of the mind so that we understand the astonishing world in which we live. Cognitively, we may grasp the concept, but experiencing it through personal insight is entirely different. This requires humility, dedication, faith, and effort.

The process requires that the individual examines their own understanding of self and the nature of reality. Upon the first glimpse of insight, the practitioner questions everything: mountains are no longer mountains, and waters are no longer waters. As the practice continues, the practitioner gradually realises the true nature of reality and appreciates that it has been present all along; it was simply unseen. Eventually, mountains are once again mountains, and waters are waters. This experience is often described as awakening, or even enlightenment.

This insight does not occur as a sudden, dramatic event where the practitioner is transported to another dimension. Spiritual practices aim for slow, often years- or decades-long cultivation, during which the practitioner gradually comes to a new understanding of reality, often imperceptibly. Occasionally, sudden flashes of insight occur that are difficult to articulate. Each tradition has its own means of framing these experiences so that they can be understood within a coherent context.

For instance, in Zen practice, a student may have sudden, surprising experiences, feeling as though the entire world is shifting or collapsing. The student may exclaim, “Here it is. I understand!” The teacher then reminds them: “It is wonderful that you had this experience, but this is not the end. Experiences come and go. We continue to practise understanding this reality.”

Mitchell also observes that similar insights are accessible in the original texts of Christianity. Even the Christian notion of the Kingdom of Heaven can be understood as a subtle state of being, living with ordinary joys and sorrows. After such realisation, life becomes simple and effortless, like the flight of birds across the sky or lilies growing eternally in the field – ever-present in the present moment.

Social Context, Dissatisfaction, and Economic Change

My doctoral research on the shamanistic cultures of the Kalahari led me to think that human dissatisfaction may arise from distorted perspectives. Axial age transformations between 800 BCE and 600 CE brought not only new religions but also profound economic changes. Previously, people relied on mutual aid and trust in everyday life. The introduction of money disrupted this trust. Slavery, armies, and money altered everything.

This transformation continues to affect us. Money, though in principle democratic and available to anyone, requires individuals to make extreme sacrifices of personal freedom to acquire it. Money disconnects people from social networks of trust – both in relation to others and in relation to their environment – because all resources are reduced to commodities defined by monetary value.

The San people of the Kalahari still live in an economy where everything is shared, and reliability holds meaningful social significance. Social cohesion is paramount in such societies. The trance dance practiced by the San is one method of reinforcing social cohesion. This religious practice aims to engage with the spiritual world so that spirits or ancestors can assist the community in times of hardship, such as illness. The trance dance exemplifies a form of spiritual practice intended to blur the distinctions and limitations of a dualistic world.

I do not claim that humanity has ever lived in a society where individuals constantly felt at one with the universe. Yet I believe that our contemporary market-driven worldview contains elements that disrupt this sense of unity and connection. This worldview – shaped by armies, oppression, and money, originating roughly 2,500 years ago – may prevent us from fully experiencing the beauty and interconnectedness of life. Perhaps it is the root of fundamental dissatisfaction.

Conclusion

The interplay between Taoist, Zen, and Christian insights, along with observations of human societies such as the Kalahari San, illustrates that the perception of duality is deeply ingrained in language, culture, and social structures. Spiritual practices cultivate a gradual awakening to the reality of interconnectedness, which cognitive understanding alone cannot achieve. Human dissatisfaction, whether induced by economic, social, or cultural frameworks, may ultimately reflect a misalignment between our conditioned perceptions and the underlying unity of existence. By exploring these perspectives, we gain a richer understanding of both the limitations of our worldview and the transformative potential of personal insight.

References

Loy, D. (1988). Nonduality: In Buddhism and Beyond. Wisdom Publications.

Mitchell, S. (1991). Tao Te Ching: A new English version. HarperCollins.

From Poverty to Productivity

Across the world, economists, sociologists and policymakers have long debated whether providing people with an unconditional basic income could help lift them out of poverty. Despite numerous pilot projects, there are relatively few long-term studies showing the large-scale social and health impacts of such measures. One striking exception, highlighted by the Dutch historian Rutger Bregman, provides rare empirical evidence of how a sudden, guaranteed flow of money can transform an entire community — not just economically, but psychologically and socially.

In 1997, in the state of North Carolina, the Eastern Band of Cherokee people opened the Harrah’s Cherokee Casino Resort. By 2010, the casino’s annual revenues had reached around 400 million USD, where they have remained relatively stable ever since. The income was used to build a new school, hospital and fire station — but the most significant portion of the profits went directly to the tribe’s members, about 8,000 in total.

The Findings: Money Really Did Change Everything

By 2001, the funds from the casino already accounted for roughly 25–33 per cent of household income for many families. These payments acted, in effect, as an unconditional basic income.

What made this case extraordinary was that, purely by coincidence, a research group led by psychiatrist Jane Costello at Duke University had been tracking the mental health of young people in the area since 1991. This provided a unique opportunity to compare the same community before and after the introduction of this new source of income.

Costello’s long-term data revealed that children who had grown up in poverty were far more likely to suffer from behavioural problems than their better-off peers. Yet after the casino opened — and the Cherokee families’ financial situation improved — behavioural problems among children lifted out of poverty declined by up to 40 per cent, reaching levels comparable to those of children from non-poor households.

The benefits went beyond behaviour. Youth crime, alcohol consumption and drug use all decreased, while school performance improved significantly. Ten years later, researchers found that the earlier a child had been lifted out of poverty, the better their mental health as a teenager.

Bregman (2018) uses this case to make a clear point: poverty is not caused by laziness, stupidity or lack of discipline. It is caused by not having enough money. When poor families finally have the financial means to meet their basic needs, they frequently become more productive citizens and better parents.

In his words, “Poor people don’t make stupid decisions because they are stupid, but because they live in a context where anyone would make stupid decisions.” Scarcity — whether of time or money — narrows focus and drains cognitive resources, leading to short-sighted, survival-driven choices. And as Bregman puts it poignantly:

“There is one crucial difference between the busy and the poor: you can take a holiday from busyness, but you can’t take a holiday from poverty.”

How Poverty Shapes the Developing Brain

The deeper roots of these findings lie in how poverty and stress affect brain development and emotional regulation. The Canadian physician and trauma expert Gábor Maté (2018) explains how adverse childhood experiences — known as ACE scores — are far more common among children raised in poverty. Such children face a higher risk of being exposed to violence or neglect, or of witnessing domestic conflict in their homes and neighbourhoods.

Chronic stress, insecurity and emotional unavailability of caregivers can leave lasting marks on the developing brain. The orbitofrontal cortex — located behind the eyes and crucial for interpreting non-verbal emotional cues such as tone, facial expressions and pupil size — plays a vital role in social bonding and empathy. If parents are emotionally detached due to stress, trauma or substance use, this brain region may develop abnormally.

Maté describes how infants depend on minute non-verbal signals — changes in the caregiver’s pupils or micro-expressions — to determine whether they are safe and loved. Smiling faces and dilated pupils signal joy and security, whereas flat or constricted expressions convey threat or absence. These signals shape how a child’s emotional circuits wire themselves for life.

When children grow up surrounded by tension or neglect, they may turn instead to peers for validation. Yet peer-based attachment, as Maté notes, often fosters riskier behaviour: substance use, early pregnancy, and susceptibility to peer pressure. Such patterns are not signs of inherent cruelty or weakness, but rather of emotional immaturity born of unmet attachment needs.

Not Just a Poverty Problem: The Role of Emotional Availability

Interestingly, these developmental challenges are not confined to low-income families. Children from wealthy but emotionally absent households often face similar struggles. Parents who are chronically busy or glued to their smartphones may be physically present yet emotionally unavailable. The result can be comparable levels of stress and insecurity in their children.

Thus, whether a parent is financially poor or simply time-poor, the emotional outcome for the child can be strikingly similar. In both cases, high ACE scores predict poorer mental and physical health, lower educational attainment, and reduced social mobility.

While Finland is often praised for its high social mobility, countries like the United States show a much stronger intergenerational persistence of poverty. In rigidly stratified societies, the emotional and economic consequences of childhood disadvantage are far harder to escape.

Towards a More Humane Future: Basic Income and the AI Revolution

As artificial intelligence reshapes industries and redefines the meaning of work, society faces a profound question: how do we ensure everyone has the means — and the mental space — to live well?

If parents could earn their income doing the work they truly value, rather than chasing pay cheques for survival, they would likely become more productive, more fulfilled, and more emotionally attuned to their children. In turn, those children would grow into healthier, happier adults, capable of sustaining positive cycles of wellbeing and productivity.

Such an outcome would not only enhance individual happiness but would also reduce public expenditure on health care, policing and welfare. Investing in people’s emotional and economic stability yields returns that compound across generations. A universal basic income (UBI), far from being utopian, could therefore represent one of the wisest and most humane investments a modern society could make.

Conclusion

The story of the Eastern Band of Cherokee people and the Harrah’s Cherokee Casino stands as powerful evidence that unconditional income can transform lives — not through moral exhortation, but through simple material security. Poverty, as Bregman reminds us, is not a character flaw; it is a cash-flow problem. And as Maté shows, the effects of that scarcity extend deep into the wiring of the human brain. When financial stress eases, parents can connect, children can thrive, and communities can flourish. In an age of automation and abundance, perhaps the greatest challenge is no longer how to produce wealth — but how to distribute it in ways that allow everyone the freedom to be fully human.

References

Bregman, R. (2018). Utopia for Realists: The Case for a Universal Basic Income, Open Borders, and a 15-Hour Workweek. Bloomsbury.
Maté, G. (2018). In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction. North Atlantic Books.