“Truths are many, but truth is one.”
-Lama Surya Das
On that note, what is truth? I think I ask this question in every blog I write. It’s become a pervading inquisition for me, a Q&A with an ambiguous epitome.
I closed my eyes today, I calmed my breath and I attuned my self with my higher-self, and in just one single moment, time stood still. Dead in it’s ponderous and unrivaled tracks, I listened to silence...but only for a moment. Beautiful was her vibration. A prodigy I became.
Though, how does one ever learn to incessantly lull such an opposing, hurried pendulum? How do we stop the galloping clock from ticking our lives to death? A beyond-demise phenomenon we already are, but when do we comprehend this information? When will we know everything we need to know? Must we merely gather our things and go rest in a quite room somewhere? Would a serene alcove endowed with energetic sympathy and solace, retribution and ethereal intensity do the job? Probably. But then there’s life and all it’s nimble, yet sadistic handiwork awaiting our return from our confidential nirvana in hopes that we’ll lapse into amnesia again. And, while in this distant and denied slumber, this inconspicuous and long-lived cat nap, we break our bonds and we break each other's hearts. Senselessly swallowed by phobias, unattached we are not. So, pain and loss accrues as we waiver into a critical, emotional debt. Some call this debt, karmic debt. Some just call it hell. Some call it life. Some call it “reality”. Meanwhile, in this whatchamacallit world, fear is being inducted into a Hall of Fame after receiving it’s honor for Most Influential Way Of Life for the last one hundred million years. Fear is like a caffein kick, we go up and it drags us back down. And while bungee jumping our way through life, we miss so much. The next thing you know, time is gone...gone with the wind in the blink of an eye. We notice that wind. We notice the rain and the thunder, and the lightening too, but we miss the rainbow. We miss the silence. We miss the new day and the opportunity that comes our way. Love comes when we least expect it, but we often move too fast to notice. And, while going up and down on our temperamental, moody see-saws, this allusive so-called “journey” deflects itself in the name of stress, doubt, pain and distraction. Then, some-how this trampled and beaten path we reluctantly tread becomes a river and we swim upstream, paddling for dear life in hopes of never drowning. We’re always battling something, be-it an upstream current, an emotional hurricane, a karmic debt, a universal slam...
But still, we can find the empty spaces and the beautiful, quite places. We can close our eyes, not to sleep, but to awaken. And, even if for the briefest moment we can pause, truly pause, time does stand still. When the clock stops, so do we, and the real world, the one without all the harmful regulations, becomes so absolute. To me, this is the hardest thing to do; stop. One hour in yoga, then I'm off stuck in traffic somewhere, late to an appointment, there goes my peace. I have to stop and start over every day, over and over again. I have to stop judging and thinking, assuming and concluding. I find meditation to be quiet the assistant in attaining solitude and “halting the turnip” so-to-speak, even if for only an instant. I wasn't always an advocate for meditation, I didn't always understand it, but with the passing of these last four intensive and colorful years, I've been encouraged and inspired to approach this intrinsic technique with a more open mind. It slows life down, introspection and concentration, and that's a beautiful thing. But then of course, we open our eyes and time resumes at it's speedy, unwanted pace. And, this so-called “reality” and all it's contradictions and problems, these essential "life-hood" shoddy features and disturbing interferences, affirm their disclaiming existence yet again. Strange and baffling intervention awaits our return from these quiet and wonderful places; these temples, theses gardens, these foreign lands, these sanctuaries and mosques. Dilemmas and Advil patiently linger while anticipating our inadvertent rebound from peace and restoration. And, we call it “the real world”, this crap we go through, this wishy-washy relationship with our own heart and soul. But, there are some people who will call it “not the real world.” Heart and Soul is the real world, and we need silence in order to even begin to detect this sincere, yet sequestered reality. We need quietude in order to ever eavesdrop among the elderly souls, the commissioners of “truth” whom delegate balance and brilliance. We need silence in order to ever hear our own heart, and I'm guessing if you do find the time to hark among your sacred center piece, you'll hear her weeping. The heart hurts. Our chest is tight and our breath is brief. Our ears are deafened by a mortal uproar and a mere clock is a deity, a ruler of a cosmic conflict. Yet, if you do listen close enough, despite every drawback, if you can discern the tears and desperate pleas of the soul, you'll cry too....because we've surrender to the fray, not to the truth. And so it is, truth is ONE, but we are not. With all our so-called “truths” and imperious answers, there are too many voices and the world is noisy. In silence we can rectify the rumble, we can heal the pain, and we can free ourselves...from ourselves.
Noiselessness is louder than any incubus given birth by death. When we are still and silent, we are not judging anything. We are a miracle in this pure and judge-less state. Though we may not know it, we were born to realize it.
Realization is a revelation.
“Regard Everything as though it is a dream.”
-Geshe Chekawa, a great Kadampa Buddhist meditation master from the 1100‘s.
Life is but a dream, so they say.