It was death that brought me to life. The walls of my room were white and bare, no posters or pictures. The hardwood floor, worn red oak. I was lying atop a narrow mattress with a charcoal blanket and one pillow. There was no dresser, my few articles of clothing were stuffed in a duffel bag on the floor. There were no posters, no souvenirs or symbols of my identity strewn about. A computer was set-up on a small desk with a flimsy metal frame and black composite top.
Whether or not the quiet, bare setting of my new room had something to do with it, I don’t know. But something happened that night. I’ve since heard people refer to such moments as a “spiritual awakening”. At the time, I didn’t call it anything.
Realizing you’re going to die can have a strange effect on the mind. Your whole life you’re on autopilot, your impulses steering you lazily from one mild interest to another, primarily focusing on things you dislike and where you’d rather be. Then, you’re met with the ground-shattering truth of mortality.
My epiphany didn’t come after receiving “the bad news” from a doctor in a lab coat, or after being pulled from a flaming car wreck. It came while I was lying in bed, looking out my curtain-less window, the rain flecked glass illuminated by a street light. I was 16 years old and healthy, but that didn’t matter. For the first time I truly dwelled on the truth that I would die. Yet, I didn’t approach it with a degree of sadness, but with raw curiosity. I realized the fragility of my existence.
Life is an hourglass in a hailstorm, running out eventually if it doesn’t shatter abruptly.
I played with the notion of there being an afterlife, and of there not being one, and of some abstract third option which we may not have the capacity to conceive, like how some animals can see colors humans cannot comprehend. Somehow, I realized that no one knew, that the concept of “what happens to my soul after I die” hadn’t been answered by science nor religion. I realized that everyone who claimed to have the answer was essentially guessing.
Instead of running away from that dark hallway, or setting my rationality down and filling the void with something assuring yet unreasonable, I sat in the agnostic void. I swam in the concept of nothingness. Eventually, the curiosity transmuted into a deep wonder, and a new insight dawned on me.
Nothingness is not the strange thing. Nothingness is the only thing that makes sense. The strange thing is existence; energy, matter, life, consciousness. We are the strange thing.
Perhaps an awakening occurs when something clicks both logically and emotionally. First, it is understood. Second, it is believed. Third, it is experienced. Only then is something truly realized. The realization of the strangeness of consciousness led to an overwhelming sense of awe. Awe of my surroundings, of my awareness. For me, this was the spark of Enlivenment.
Reverence. The awe developed into a deep reverence, a kind of worship of reality itself. I needed nothing else. Nothing could be more mysterious, detailed, and poetically artistic than everything, than anything.
Clarity. Clarity hit like being in an algae-covered fishbowl, and not just having the glass wiped clean, but shattering the glass. I began to see the detail of things as they truly were, the opposite of a hallucination, entering a state more grounded and authentic than the default perspective I had remained in most of my life.
I picked something up. Light played on its metallic surface, every slight change in angle morphing it into a new masterpiece of form and light. It was cool to the touch, incredibly smooth. When I bent it, it’d hold its new form. I studied the item as if I’d never seen something so beautiful in my life, because I hadn’t. Eventually, I set the paperclip down. I noticed the smooth white wall. I pushed my face up to it, studied the sea of texture, the vast mural of micro dimples and dents and slight discolorations. Had all this detail been here the whole time? I wasn’t seeing more, but noticing more.
Desire. Some people mention losing all desire when they undergo an awakening. My desire magnified a thousand fold. However, it changed from wanting things to wanting experiences. To wanting to be.
I turned into a dog off its leash, eagerly going from this thing to that. I soon found there was no playground more rich for immersion than the wilderness, something I’d cared little about up until that point. If I were able to be in awe of a paperclip, or the sheen of light reflecting off a tile, imagine the ecstasy of a trickling mountain stream, or the damp squish of a spongy bed of moss beneath bare feet, or the curve and crash of a cresting ocean wave. Or, better yet, to be submerged in the wave, to feel the thousands of bubbles escape and rise above the turbulence, to grip the sand as it receded between my toes, to feel of the burning sun on my back, the salty sting of scrapes from shells, the fear of the depths and what could be lurking there. I wanted it all.
After attaining fulfillment within, I’d become free to attain fulfillment without.
Yet, I only wanted these desires, I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anything, being was enough. Perhaps the most important characteristic of Enlivenment is the ability to simply “do nothing” and lean into it, to drown in its layers, to be so content with simply existing that the idea of going to heaven sounds silly, because I know I’m already there.
We’ve heard the saying, “it’s about the journey, not the destination”. At some level this is true and a wise perspective to hold while playing the game of life. But, I found a deeper truth, one larger than the game.
Ultimately, there is no journey, only destination, and we’re always already there.
Upon realizing this, desires, goals, and the journeys we embark on become light, optional, fun things to pursue, rather than critical things to frantically run towards. Life doesn’t just become a game, but the best game conceivable. To attain contentment without complacency is to balance fulfillment within and fulfillment without.
From a practical day-to-day standpoint, the awakening affected almost everything. I never cared much about nature, or philosophy, or anything except video games really, until after it happened. The experience entirely adjusted my interests, passions, and hobbies. At 20 years old, it led me to the freedom-granting profession I still have today. It strengthened my relationships, and developed a compassion for all beings.
The awakening did not solve every conceptual “problem”, however, and gratefully so — a life without problems is like a story without conflict, hardly worth reading. Yet, effectively facing and overcoming obstacles is now a riveting thing to engage with. Even awful, gut-wrenching situations are viewed in a totally different light. This realization would later evolve in my concept of Soulfire. These foundational benefits of Enlivenment are key. The painting may change, but the canvas remains.
Years later, I decided to try to make sense of the experience. I studied it and found that it wasn’t quite the same as other people’s awakenings. It is a coincidence that Enlivenment and Enlightenment sound so similar, but they are two rather different paths with different effects, but which lead to the same outcome — the end of unfulfillment. At age 29, I decided to use my awakening as a launchpad for constructing a new philosophical framework. I call the project Fulfillment Theory. It is a work in progress, but has moved along enough to where I’m beginning to feel comfortable sharing some of the ideas from it.
Cody Christopher
Fulfillment Theory 
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