Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Enter here and lose everything



This is the call of the beloved in our lives, but what sort of invitation is this? Who would be foolish enough to consciously choose to be taken apart by love? When we enter the beloved’s world, we discover very quickly that what she is offering is not what we think. Here is the loss of our reference points, of our spiritual accomplishments, of the strategies that have worked so well to keep us safe and protected from intimacy with everyone and everything; there is no ground here from which we may deem ourselves awake, asleep, spiritual, human, divine, loveable, or unlovable as we are.

Only a fool would accept such an invitation, for to dance with the beloved in this way is the end of our world, from ego’s perspective. We will no longer be able to look to our conventional or spiritual fantasies, concepts, hopes, fears, and dreams to tell us who and what we are. This is revealed only afresh in each moment, and is alive, shimmering, and completely outside the realm of the known. In the deep, dark waters of the beloved’s womb – where we are born, dance for a short while, and then dissolve – everything that arises is self-liberated into empty, pregnant space. All images and concepts – even the great spiritual ones, of the separate me and its great awakening – are disassembled, piece by piece, and offered back into space itself, to be recycled and scattered as fragments of kindness, compassion, humility, and gratitude. We watch in awe as the architect of love re-engineers each and every cell, each and every strand of DNA, each and every synapse in the brain. We stand back as the magnificent movement of love re-wires this body for what is next, uniquely preparing this vehicle for the forever unknown ways that love must express itself through each of us.

As these infinite cycles of death and rebirth play out, as love forever and into eternity takes shape as this human body, forms itself as each and every kind word we say, takes shape as the humility and compassion which become the foundation of this life, a call from beyond makes its away over the thundering silence: the tea pot is boiling, the matcha is ready. Behold this cup of tea, the spring sun as it rises over the mountains, the squirrel-lovers as they chase one another up and down the tree, the sometimes disturbing clanging of the wind chimes, the baby across the street who is screaming to be held, the tingling in the fingers from a life of so much typing, the remembrance of the day’s to-do list, the reminder of all of the responsibilities of this life. All of these appearances – like echoes, like mirages, like rainbows – luminous, empty, transparent; so very full; each as ever-precious reminders of the only response to this life which makes any sense: that of deep gratitude. Things here are not what they seem. 


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