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Recognizing Our Divinity The Spiritual Traveler
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There
are two aspects to recognizing our divinity and that of
others. There is the realization of the moment-of the here
and now-and there is the gradual process of realization that we call
spiritual unfoldment. This is the paradox created by the
illusion of time. If you've ever had the experience of
looking into someone's eyes, and seeing their divinity, you know what
I'm talking about. You experience the sense that you are two
gods looking at one another, and yet you are just two
people. At that moment, you are experiencing the paradox of
existence in this material world.
It is impossible to describe
this experience to someone that has not had it. It's like
trying to prove the existence of God. You can take a person
outside on a beautiful spring day, and say to them, "Look at the leaves
on the trees-the way they sway in the wind. Look at the
branches of the trees-they way the move so subtly, like the chest of an
animal that's breathing. Can't you see God in the leaves, in
the trees, all around you?" But all they will see are leaves
and trees. If they do not have that recognition, there is
nothing you can say to them to give them that experience.
There are things that you can
contemplate on, that can help spark or remind you of your divinity and
that of others. Woody Guthrie said "You want to know what
love is? Look at your children. See how they
whoop and holler, laugh and cry... That's what love is. A
child gives love, and asks nothing in return. A child gives
love, and asks everything in return." That all-and-nothing
quality is very close to a description of divinity.
Divinity is in your
dreams. It is music, song, and poetry. Once I had
a dream, in which I found myself in a large, enclosed
mall. Suddenly it started raining. I didn't
understand how it could be raining in a mall covered by a gigantic
roof-but it was a dream, after all. As the rain came down, I
started singing a familiar song. It was "Singin' in the
Rain." I was singing and dancing, just like Gene Kelly in
the classic movie. It was a very vivid dream, and when I
woke up I felt that I had been touched by something very close to
divinity.
Another useful object of
contemplation on the nature of our divinity is anything of nature,
particularly flowers. I once had the experience of giving a
flower as a gift, and as I gave the gift, I had the thought: "I am that
flower." Then I used that in my contemplation. I
imagined myself in a huge field full of flowers, and I started looking
for myself. Finally, I came to a single flower, and I knew
that flower was me. Later on, I found that I could use this
exercise when I was in conflict with other people. When I
was having trouble seeing their divinity, I would imagine that I was
back in that field and I would find their flower growing next to
mine. It was a pretty good exercise.
These are some of the tools
that can be used to recognize our divinity and that of others in the
present moment. But what part does the process of spiritual
unfoldment play in increasing our realization? This is
something that we can recognize only after having been on a spiritual
path for a certain amount of time. Years ago, I tried to
write some of my experiences down in an extended
narrative. I gave the manuscript to a friend to
read. Then I met with her to get her
reaction. "Your manuscript is written from the mental
level," she said. "You have to learn to write from the
viewpoint of Soul."
"But what is the viewpoint of Soul?" I asked.
"The viewpoint of Soul is like looking up, and seeing not the ceiling, but the stars."
At the time, this answer left
me perplexed, discouraged, and defeated. I couldn't
understand how to shift from the viewpoint of seeing the ceiling to the
viewpoint of seeing the stars. How could one break through
that ceiling?
Years later, the question no
longer troubled me, and perhaps this was because I had indeed broken
through that ceiling, but in a very natural manner, so that I didn't
even notice it had occurred. I only remembered the incident,
because someone asked me the exact same question. And the
answer came to me intantaneously. "We only begin to see the
stars," I replied, "when we become acutely conscious that we are only
seeing the ceiling." What I was trying to say was that it is
necessary to experience the limited nature of our perspective before we
can become motivated to gain a wider one.
The 'ceiling' that prevents
us from seeing the stars is one that we create
ourselves. Very often, our limited conception of the thing
we wish to see beyond the ceiling is what actually hides it from
view. For instance, I attended a philosophical discussion
group, and the subject turned to life after death.
"Life after death is the one
thing I am most sure of," I declared. "Even though I know
that for most people, it's the thing they are least sure of."
"How can it be the thing you are most sure of?" I was asked.
"Years ago," I explained, "I
was very concerned with this question. Every night, I would
go to bed and lie awake, trying to imagine my own
non-existence. It was impossible. I couldn't
imagine it. Finally, I realized that I could imagine
anything, EXCEPT my own non-existence. I therefore concluded
that this was the one thing in life that was impossible."
The other people in the group
laughed. "That just proves that you're looking from the
point of view of your own ego," they said.
"So you actually believe that
your consciousness will eventually be simply snuffed out?" I asked them.
Most of them nodded their heads, yes.
"But what would be the point life, in that case?" I demanded.
They looked at me blankly.
"There is no such thing as
time," I asserted. "Time is an
illusion. Therefore, if our consciousness is to be
extinguished in the future, it does not exist in the present."
"Why, then, do we have no memory of our previous existence?" someone asked.
"The only logical answer to
that question," I replied, "is that life is like going to
sleep. We are asleep now. Our struggle to hold on
to consciousness at this moment is like the struggle to be conscious in
our dreams. When we die, we will wake up, and remember."
The difference between my
point of view and that of the others in the group was that they were
looking at the ceiling, and I was seeing the stars. I was
seeing a field of flowers. My own individual consciousness
was in that sky. It was in that field. I could
look down on it and see it as something that would eventually wilt and
die. But with what eyes was I seeing myself? And
with what consciousness was I contemplating that very
action? To trace my own consciousness was like walking
through a hall of mirrors and seeing endless reflections of my self
staring back at me.
Once we recognize that we are
not a single, pallid reflection, but something much greater than we
appear to both ourselves and others, then we open up, relax, and
acquire that spark in our eyes that is a sign that we have recognized
our own divinity.
Traverse City, Michigan, July 20, 1996 - Ann Arbor, Michigan, February 14, 2001 |
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Date Submitted:
1/2/04 |
Copyright Information:
Copyright © The Spiritual Traveler, 2001 |
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