Thursday, April 4, 2013

Left with an unwavering faith in love’s perfection…

How can we ever really know what love wants of us, how life wishes to move through us, how it will distribute its light through the broken-open cracks of our being, making use of these bodies, these hearts, and these senses to express its transformative majesty in the world of time and space? It is so natural, in a way, to desire to get as quickly as possible from here to there – from the mess and muck and gooey, stickiness of the relative, of intimacy, of relationships, of emotional intensity – to the absolute, to God, to peace, to happiness, to the right spiritual thoughts and feelings, to some pre-packaged set of experiences that demonstrate that everything is okay, safe, secure, resolved, wrapped up in a tidy life-package that we can finally rest in and find ground.

This is so understandable, and so wired into us in a certain way. But the heart knows nothing about these things. It knows nothing of resolution, of everything being okay, of some final certainty, of holding it all together, of figuring it out, of some landing place, of some newly assigned spiritual identity, constructed out of our own hopes, fears, and dreams. It does know, though, that in any moment the beloved, in whatever form she chooses to take – sometimes sweetly and often fiercely – will bring into our lives whatever it must to take us deeper into the mysteries of love. And that this movement will take us apart. More often than not, this process takes us directly into the end of our world, into the disassembling of everything we thought we knew – about love, about intimacy, about spirituality, about our fables of awakening, about who and what we are, about what we believe we need to be happy, about the terror of vulnerability, about the raging fires of relationship, about how we can best honor this gift of human life that we have been given.

In this sort of acausal, ahistorical, unbearably alive place, where our concepts, fantasies, and superstitions disintegrate in that vastness that we are, we may see that the path has very little to do, ultimately, with traveling from “here to there” – with making some legendary journey, from human to Divine, from relative to Absolute, from yucky to yummy, ending in some mythological sustained transcendent experience that we can claim for ourselves and shout out to the world. We wonder if it may instead be about stepping outside of this construction altogether. We intuit that this is what is being asked of us, however we also know on some level that to do so would result in a certain devastation, in the end of our world as we know it, including the dissolution of each and every one of our spiritual identities. Do we really want to surrender in this way? What about me and my realizations? Me and my “awakening?” Me and my fabulously awesome spiritual experiences? What about everything I’ve been taught? What about all of those really cool spiritual beliefs and ideas I’ve learned and memorized and can recite so clearly? These and other invitations come pouring out of the unknown, dripping into and through our hearts, asking us to open to the immensity of what is actually being asked here, of what is truly required.

Rather than organizing our experience around how we will get to the Absolute (often, of course, in very subtle and unconscious ways), we watch in awe the mysteries of the movement of love as it pours through the relative, unleashing itself in time and space, taking form as these bodies, these senses, our relationships, our sexuality, each surge of feeling and emotion, and the ways we speak, touch, and hold another. We are in awe at how the unknown enters into this sacred world of time and space, revealing itself beyond our conceptual understanding, hopes, and fears. We are so curious as to how the Absolute will express as and through the relative, crafting each of us as alchemical vessels of love in action. We start to see so clearly how this life may not ultimately be about reaching out for more grace, seeking more experiences, establishing new very groovy spiritual identities, grasping at more spiritual states of consciousness, believing in one spiritual superstition and magical tale after another, and coming up with new spiritual ways to see ourselves. But rather, we are asked to take a risk, to surrender everything so that we may come to know the movement of love and how it wishes to wash through our organs, our eyes, our hearts, our bodies, pouring out through our words, our hands, out of every crack and crevice of everything that we are.

We are endlessly amazed and in awe at such intelligence and such creativity – of the movement of those same energies which birthed the stars and the moon and the tides and designed the cells of this human heart – left with an almost unbearable gratitude, and an unwavering faith in love’s perfection.