When I was a little kid, maybe five-ish, I would often be outside, say, on a summer afternoon, surrounded by beach trees with their smooth trunks and bright green leaves, glowing with the sun behind them. Wisps of white cloud moving across the sky so fast it made me dizzy to stare at them for too long. The white of the cloud making the blue of the sky seem super saturated. And suddenly the wind would pick up, and the trees would sway, and the leaves would make a sound like huge ocean waves, and I would feel a tremendous energy sweeping through me, with the wind. It was so much beauty.
My heart felt strained. Like my heart was trying to love everything around me, as much as it deserved to be loved. But my heart wasn't big enough to carry that amount of love. Like too much current on a tiny wire, or a small pipe trying to deliver the entire sea in a few moments. I would almost clench my teeth, straining with the tension my body felt. But I didn't want it to go away. I wanted to let that love flow and exult in the splendor of creation. To have its way with me fully. It was like a dam that wanted to burst, but could only let out an intense pressurized stream from a few small pipes.
Tonight I looked out at the glowing yellow sky where the sun had just set. Listening to the chorus of spring peepers and some other kind of singing frog. Turning back and forth between the pure clean dazzling moon having tea with Jupiter and the Japanese silhouettes of the trees against the still glowing western horizon. Feeling the cool, fresh air on me, breathing it in and tasting its crispness. Its soft, slight dampness of spring and growth and fresh water.
As all these things and more happened, and I let myself surrender to the present moment, I felt that same immensity stirring within me. Like a wordless song of praise being sung by something big as the earth, passing through me. And I found my heart had grown. The pipeline was bigger.
In fact, that analogy isn't quite right. The trick seems to be to stop trying to be anybody. To stop trying to do anything or make anything happen. Then the pipe dissolves and my heart becomes more like space itself, rather than something bounding space. There still seems to be a limit to how much of it I can experience in this little frame of flesh. But that capacity is growing. And instead of a pipe that is trying to flow the whole ocean through it, I'm more of just a person in the ocean, feeling the waves rock me as they go by.
As soon as I start to contract and close down, I feel the friction and pressure return. It's interesting.
I have so much to be grateful for. Mostly stuff going on inside of me. The outside of me probably looks much the same as any other person, or as I used to look, when I felt wretched and small most of the time. Now I feel extream gratitude for finally being able to work with focus and discipline at what I love. And that internal work pays huge dividends in peace, love, joy.
I don't think most people would be particularly impressed by the sunset tonight. I don't think people would be particularly thrilled to have the experience I had. I don't want to sound impressive. This is not impressive. It's simpler and more accessible than it sounds, unless it sounds really simple. But I do want to remind people that the universe is incredible, if you simply remove the coverings over your eyes and heart, and let yourself see what is there.
And also, apparently, the closer you are to not being anyone, the easier it is for the vast beauty and love of the universe to flow through you.
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