At points along the way, the movement from “here” to “there” is washed away and only pure wonder remains. The fantasy of completing some mythical journey is replaced by the awe of now, as we bear witness to love as it infuses matter with its qualities.
The great miracle will never be realized there, but only here, buried in each astonishing synapse, hidden in the cells of one raw beating heart, and concealed inside a mirror neuron as it lights up and crackles in a moment of listening, compassion, and embodied attunement.
The fantasy of “there” is as valid as any other, but at times the invitation is to bow down to the altar of “here” and receive. On this altar are the holy images of our broken dreams, disappointments, failures, realizations, and joys. Grief is there, as is bliss, pain, and the beloved in all of his or her forms, the retinue of inner and outer lovers who have fallen out of awareness and long to return home.
As we take the risk to practice intimacy with the entirety of the spectrum, we fall to the ground at the opportunity we have been given and the revolutionary implications of what it means to be an open, sensitive, tender, broken and whole human being. Succeeding in one moment only to fail in the next, lost and then found, and then lost again. Somehow all grace.
And in the end only one prayer remains. Not “where is god, where is more enlightenment, where are more lovers”… but thank you. The feast laid out before us, sprinkled throughout the moon and the stars and the water and the forests and the eyes of the one in front of us…