Many of us have an inner ache, a discontented restlessness, without knowing why. Viktor Frankl coined the term, “Sunday Neurosis,” an existential anxiety formed from the vague awareness people get that their lives are empty and meaningless when they are not otherwise distracted by the work week. Some remained bored and apathetic; others try to fill the void, but cannot succeed because we cannot fill a spiritual hole with non-spiritual stuff. Yet, we keep trying.
So if a human being’s primary drive is the search for meaning, where do we look? If it’s not in the Himalayas, the ashram, the shrink’s couch, the self-help section of the bookstore, the office, the lab, the studio, the field or even the sanctuary, then where?