Monday, April 29, 2013

The play of the beloved and her use of particles of love to create the world…

There is a moment as we transition out of the dream state and into waking reality that offers a special opportunity to explore the nature of awareness, of what we are, of the unique ways that particles of love are starting to take shape as a new day. Our habitual, familiar sense of self has not yet crystallized: we do not know if we are awakened or not, enlightened or not, a spiritual person or not – these dreams have not yet formed. The story of me has yet to be told. In these moments which are truly out of time, it is only us and the beloved; it is her realm, her garden, her environment, and remains outside the rules of conventional life. Inside this mandala there is no ground or support for egoic process; it is not dictated by our hopes, dreams, and fantasies. Becoming familiar with this very lucid area of consciousness allows us to get a behind-the-scenes look of how it is the beloved uses particles of love to create the relative world.   

In this dimension of experience, things are so vulnerable, so sensitive, so raw, so naked, so groundless – we are in the unknown, unsure of what it is we really want, what is moving within us. What will the day bring? Will we allow another fully into our hearts? Will we allow ourselves to be touched and transformed by whatever appears? How deeply will we meet that which arrives on this new day? Will our old friend anxiety come for tea? Will our faithful companion fear ask to join? Will our long lost acquaintance shame arrive for a reunion? Will we resist the temptation to turn from our old friends, to spiritualize them away, to dishonor their gifts through our habitual need to be in some state other than the one that has been given? Discrimination between “higher” consciousness and “lower” consciousness does not arise here; we see that love, that awareness, has no bias for wisdom or neurosis – for, when flooded with awareness, they are revealed to be the same substance. Can we remain radically embodied, staying excruciatingly close, profoundly intimate, outrageously kind, toward all aspects of self who arrive as special guests from beyond?

There is a part of us that knows that in such a meeting something will be shattered. Our images? Our dreams? Our hopes? Our strategies to avoid the risk of relatedness? Our spiritual fantasies? Our ways of hiding out from the burning fires of true intimacy? Our unconscious ways of using the spiritual journey to create ground for egoic process? The unbearable truth of the groundless and unresolvable nature of the field of grace that is this messy human life? Alongside this most sacred reassembling, it seems we are also simultaneously becoming aware of a call from beyond, whispering to us that in this shattering something will be reborn, reconstituted out of the dust-heap of the broken pieces of our tender hearts and faded dreams. Maybe it was only love after all, taking whatever form required to re-introduce us to ourselves. Perhaps it was all orchestrated and set-up by the beloved from the start, flooded with her fragrance from the very beginning; in these tender moments between the worlds, we remain in awe at how her body and her speech and her activity and her egolessness give birth to this universe.