I was going to go for a walk, but when I looked outside, I saw that the sky was very gloomy. Now a deluge is falling so hard that Serefé, the oak on the other side of the window, is shouting “Good heavens!” while its branches wave wildly under the lashes of the water. A good time to start writing.
Not much to report here. My life this week has flowed peacefully. The other day there was a wonderful leap in my consciousness. I realized, while washing dishes, that I am not a victim of anything that happens in this world. I felt a tremendous joy and strength, as if I had been declared the king of my internal world, with the power and responsibility that entails. I felt a tremendous urge to go outside, so I took my bike and a book by Yogananda to the banks of the Charles River. I found a remote, solitary bench with my name inscribed next to a large linden tree, and there I sat to read. I hadn’t finished reading the first page when a huge branch of the linden tree cracked with a terrible sound and fell next to me. I got closer and saw that a colony of ants had devoured the inside of the tree. I don’t believe in luck or coincidences; everything is significant and follows a divine harmony, so I knew there was something there for me. As A Course in Miracles says, “All things are lessons that God wants me to learn.” I asked what the meaning of that was, and this is what I received in an instant.
Sometimes I have used the analogy that the ego is like a tree. In the trunk lies what is perhaps its central belief: the belief in separation. From there, the foundational branches sprout: “the source of happiness is outside of me,” “I am limited,” “the world is governed by the law of cause and effect,” “I am a body,” “death is a certainty and inevitable,” “my survival depends on me,” “I am the author of my life.” From these major beliefs grow thousands upon thousands of other false beliefs, like branches that multiply and extend in all directions. This tree is like an algorithm of countless dualities and contradictions through which we process our lives. The bigger the tree grows, the darker the shadow it casts.
We do not experience life directly. Life is God Itself, and a single glance at Its entirety would leave our minds in awe and forever silent. Most of us are not there yet. What we experience then is that infinity filtered through our particular limited algorithm. That’s why each of us has a different perspective, but there is only one reality.
When doing spiritual work, one explores the foundational beliefs of the ego and repeatedly reveals that they are not based on reality. It’s as if one sits every day by the tree with a small knife and every day cuts a bit more of that wide trunk. Sometimes, if one has good karma and God is in a good mood, one gets a deep glimpse of the truth. That’s like an axe blow to the trunk.
Most days, nothing happens, at least on the surface. But if one keeps chipping away at that trunk and the larger branches, eventually one of them falls.
One of the branches that causes the most suffering is the feeling of being a victim. A victim of illness, bad weather, the “system,” a past injustice, a bad boss, anything you choose to see in those terms. It is based on the false belief that the source of happiness is outside of me. By adopting this position, you give away your power to something external. “If only that thing [of which I am a victim] changed, then I would be happy.” This apparent loss of power brings with it a sense of helplessness, self-pity, and many other negative emotions. Despite being based on falsehood, when the mind adopts this position, our entire life passes through that algorithm and those emotions, and that is what we perceive, so our perception of the world corroborates and reinforces our position. It is difficult to get out of there. Well, it’s not difficult to get out of there; the difficult part is wanting to get out of there. Once you want it enough, God’s grace comes down and lifts that mountain like a feather. This may require a thousand prayers or just one.
I had spent my whole life feeling like a victim of my health. A couple of months ago, I discovered that I was not a victim in relation to losing my voice over and over again (I haven’t lost it since), but that conclusion didn’t seem to extend immediately to the rest of the ailments and imbalances I perceive in my body. Until this week. While washing the dishes, the victimhood branch finally gave way and fell under its own weight. Instead of ants eating away the wood, in this case it was the Spirit making its way through my neurophysiology, using my body to restore my mind and spirit.
All that was told to me by that linden tree branch. Thank you.
Another beautiful message came to me yesterday through my father: he told me that in times when I feel sad, depressed, or confused, I should not forget to be grateful. When he said that, I realized that in the past month and a half, gratitude had not been as present in my life. No wonder it’s been a grayer period! To make up for it, here is a comprehensive list of the things I am grateful for at this moment:
My father and the way the Spirit inspired him at that moment.
The plants in my house are still alive.
The joyful, wise, and loving presence of B., who fills my days with the light of home.
My family, who, despite being far away, are very close.
Being aware of my breath at this moment, finding it rhythmic, deep, and slow.
My teachers and guides, who come immediately whenever I need them.
My piano altar with birds flying over it.
My voice, getting healthier, stronger, and more beautiful every day.
The friends I’ve made in Boston, who are like safe harbors to dock at on my journey.
The awareness of my true Self, radiant and omnipresent, which occasionally lights up unexpectedly and reveals for a few seconds that there is really no problem and nothing to fear.
Watching the four seasons pass by Serefé.
This summer storm.
Having a bike.
The enthusiasm that has awakened in me for cooking. Yesterday I made this Summer Pasta Primavera.
Last night’s picnic, having that indecisively named pasta by the river with B. and friends.
My teachers, again, for revealing the beauty with which everything shines.
A Course in Miracles, for teaching me to forgive and recognize myself in all things.
My time at Berklee, with the infinite lessons that will take me the rest of my life to integrate.
That little bird singing now that the storm has passed.
The friends I have scattered around the world, who often pass through my heart, bringing gifts.
My hands, created to create meticulously.
My house, its symmetry and harmony.
That mother duck who trusted me and allowed her babies to come up to greet me.
The project of these Australian Buddhist nuns, reading meditations, prayers, and other mystical texts with their wonderful voices.
The dry leaves I found earlier in a book on my shelf.
The Voice that guides me through enthusiasm.
This past month and a half: intensive training in tenderness, authority, and trust in the Reality of God.
Last, first, supreme and ultimate, Christ, who encapsulates in His love, beauty, and truth all the things mentioned here and all those I’m missing.
My mother taught me a prayer when I was a child, which I forgot for many years (most of them) and unearthed this spring in my internal world. Now I begin to understand it. I’ll end with it:
Little Jesus of my life, you are a child like me.
That’s why I love you so much and give you my heart.
Take it, it’s yours, not mine.
With all my love,
A.
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