If a child were to appear at your door – cold, scared,
and tired from a long journey…
If he or she were anxious, heartbroken, raging, and confused…
Would you refuse entry to the little one? Would you first
demand that his fear dissolve, her anxiety be healed, his confusion clarify, or
her heart be mended?
In your most authoritative spiritual voice, would you
urge the little one to first "get over it,” to accept everything the way
it is, to urgently forgive those who have harmed him, to fall into the bliss of
the moment, or to drop into the state of no-self?
Or would you provide sanctuary and safe passage from a
long journey? A warm home in which the stories, the emotions, and the
sensations of the little one can unfold, be illuminated, and be metabolized
into the tender space of wholeness?
As Rumi reminds us, “Look as long as you can at the
friend you love, no matter whether that friend is moving away or coming toward
you.” The friend is always appearing, in both obvious and disguised forms, as
the others in your life as well as the unmet ‘inner other’ of your heart.
Honor each of the forms that love take, allowing your
heart to break when these forms change, for it is their nature to do so. This
is not evidence that something has gone wrong, but only in the relentlessness
of love to do whatever it must to find you.