The Deep Search for Spirituality: Caves, Burrows and Other Places

I must have been about 8, maybe 9 years old when my best friend Victor and I found it unbearable not to investigate the empty neighbor's house, just adjacent to my parents' property. Victor and I called ourselves "blood-brothers" because we had once scratched our arms with a sharp stone, pressed our arms together and, thus, mixed our bloods to become blood-brothers.

We circled the house a few times and concluded that the only way into would be by climbing up to a small window above the front door, breaking it, and wiggling through the small space into the house. I remember the awkwardness of breaking something on purpose. While I had broken things by accident breaking something with intent for the purpose of getting somewhere else is something I had never done before. I still don't prefer this option of making it to my goals. I would rather find a way around breaking things to get where I want to get. I remember, too, that it was more difficult to break the glass than we had thought. We tapped on it with trepidation at first, but then with increasing courage. The sound of the glass when it finally broke scared me. I couldn't help feeling something illicit creeping up my back. But the pull of the mysterious empty house and, perhaps, also Victor's presence next to me propelled me forward. We just "needed" to get in. And we did.

Once inside we explored the two floors, but to our dismay didn't find anything that would have truly interested us: no dead bodies, no hidden away stashes of food, no secret notes, not even a forgotten tool of some sort. Only empty rooms with stains on the walls and floors, a few old mattresses lying around. We were disappointed. Our need for adventure had been taken for a ride. This empty house, so full of promise from the outside, became boring very quickly.

Altogether we probably spent about 15 minutes in the house. We climbed out and went on to new adventures. The house was quickly forgotten, just one thing on a boy's neverending search for excitement, mystery and physical engagement. But that same evening, our door-bell rang a few times, impatiently. Our neighbor, Herr Pump, stood at our front door. I just caught the words "ihr Sohn" (your son) and "eingebrochen" (broke in) and something dawned on me that I had not even remotely considered beforet: this adventure was actually a legal transgression! My dad, in his usual quiet way, just listened to Herr Pump (he did not confront me in front of him) and, after he was gone, briefly talked to me about it. I remember sharing my profound astonishment about the label Herr Pump had given the whole thing: "Einbruch" (break-in). Up to that point "Einbruch" in my mind had been for the purpose of "Diebstahl" (theft). We didn't take anything, right? We didn't even think we could take something, had we found anything. No, our intent rather was this ineffable, mysterious excitement that pulled us forward. "Einbruch" seemed inadequate all-around to talk about what happened in the afternoon.

I did feel ashamed though and tried, I think, to blame it on Victor, partially. My dad didn't go there with me however. In fact, I don't recall him even saying "mach das nicht noch mal" (don't do that again). He must have paid for the glass and Herr Pump never mentioned it again.

I am left to wonder about whether such experiences, such strong desire to go into caves and cave-like spaces, even when it is at the cost of breaking in, is part of the boy-code. I certainly have come across many stories of boys who, for one reason or another, have been attracted to caves, burrows, secret hide-aways and similar places. And, yes, for a while they hold out in such places, may even bring food, poetry, music and girls (Dead Poets' Society) to such a place.

But it's not just that we want to hide, I believe, it also is that we expect to find something there. But we don't know what that might be. On the beach we dig and dig deeper and deeper into the dirt, until there is water. But the water itself gives only a short-lived happiness. Then we make tunnels to see the water flow from one hole to the next. But ultimately we want to continue digging. And if we came out in China (as some like to say) that would be both an experience and a disappointment. Because even China is not what we're looking for.

So there is a profound restlessness in us. Some have called it a "wildness," other's call it ADHD. I believe that this is a "romantic" restlessness. And, ultimately, I believe that comprised in this romantic restlessness (my favorite label for this phenomenon) is our (males') search for spirituality, for in-spiration, for a palpable connection with the sacred. We experience this palpable connection not as "finding something," but rather as "looking for something." In other words, we will continue to look for it, because that's where our spirituality resides, in the search. It does not reside in the finding and we will never "find" the sacred. But we do experience the extreme pleasure, tension and ecstasy of our connection to it.