Normal consciousness of form, time, body, the world of interaction, is all cracked. That is, there are cracks in these and every world, where something breaks through the certainty of belief in the self. The crack is there; we don’t always notice. The light is not blaring into one’s mental space like a high-volume commercial on the screen of your life; but more subtly, in the after-images of that world, into which leaks the light beyond the curtain of coming attractions, where the bacteria of non-conceptual reality live, quietly digesting the superstructure of cerebral certainty.
Mortality is the universe remaking itself. The mistakes and corrections we commit daily, the slights we commit, the differences between self-centered decisions and purely selfish decisions are recorded in the tabernacles of the infinite. The wiring constantly undergoing revision is the earth-brain interacting with itself, assessing, revising and instantaneously forming the next iteration, the next imperative, the natural shifting turbulent void where information interacts with action, dancing toward another version of our ongoing attempts to define the indefinable.
Getting underneath the automaticity of describing what’s happening with a partner, another human being, in terms of behavior down into how the ‘other’s’ behavior is a mirror of our own attitudes and behavior is a difficult and revealing process. Taking responsibility. It may seem that my sense of responsibility for events that occur with a partner is thin. It might be impossible to discern how to interact with it. If so, that’s perfectly OK and right. Events work their strange magic in unexpected ways.
Recent messages may contain too much information- or not enough of the sort we can use, i.e. interact with. Dropping all the pictures and expectations and needs and projections of what any relationship is beyond the time of co-habitation is difficult enough. It is, to a degree, because we have already been hooked into thinking in terms of beginnings and endings. Stepping instead into an ever-changing unruly river that is constantly overflowing its banks does finally invite a genuine loving friendship to reveal itself. But owning all of it as a reflection of one’s personal truth is another level of difficult.
It’s a freight train, relationship. Especially with anyone who’s along for more than the ride—who’s looking at the scenery, examining the accommodations, the company, the angle of the sun, every emotional nuance. I have constructed a self-contained life. It’s a defense and a skill and necessary and chosen and a last resort for feeling inadequate, not quite permitting someone else to effect me. Which is to say, I will at times fall out of interaction into solitary. And ultimately, as we age, one never knows what events may arise that will throw the entire façade of independence down hard, into dust.
Yet regardless of how much experience one might have in negotiating the terms of relationship, being able to describe one’s flaws and needs and preferences accurately and still permit the influence, needs and preferences of another to soften you out of your private structure, your personal sanctuary, all this while everything is also constantly changing, that’s the freight train of being.
Sometimes I just want to get off. Either I am weak, exhausted, resigned, depleted or temporarily inadequate, though setting any ultimate limit, deciding when to get off the freight train remains a total crapshoot. That’s because interaction never ceases.
The wildness quality, the unpredictability that destroys the human-centered view, is created not only by ego-driven self-centered reactivity, but by the value-free random nature of change. The antidote, the other truth of reality is the One-ness level, a release into infinite interactivity, in which I can sincerely hold a much larger and inclusive view of our personal circumstances, in which I could see myself as a mere servant prepared to adjust to whatever comes, respond in whatever way might be helpful and let go of a specific view of how this is supposed to unfold.
Along with that One-ness view, I see how embedded I am in ego-driven reactivity so much of the time, how far I am sometimes from an open-hearted, loving perspective that holds us in a positive light with all of our histories, wounds, pain, abilities and commitments; invoking the mercy of the unseen into every moment. In other words, I do at times seek refuge in limited interactivity.
Yes, I am attached to the world of form. At the very least, I am dependable in that way. Yet, alas, not quite so dependable in terms of being able to make deliberate unequivocal commitments. I feel incomplete in this way, as if I am supposed to be able to do that. Yet I am also ambivalent about accepting the other Truth, balancing my need for independence with the desire to interact in the living truth of aloneness we all share. Seeing myself this way is not merely an escape from love. I’m just being realistic. And compassionate, by the way. I am riddled with paradox–which also limits my capacity for unwavering commitment to the One-ness view. The territory yet to be traveled is revealed.
In the dense and aged stand of bamboo outside my window, there are beginnings and endings happening in every moment. There is decline, death and decay always amidst the new growth, the maturation and fruition of maturity. Other creatures find refuge in the deep safety of its inner reaches; they live and die as well. It provides shade, mulch to the earth, stability to the soil and becomes a soundscape as the breezes blow through it. In its steadfast silence, in its interactive turmoil, it is also a muse of love.