“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.”
Yes, a place to finally meet…of true togetherness. At first to ask a question perhaps. Or perhaps just to see. To test a little. To push ever so slightly against all that might seem barren and difficult, and recognize some things in this life are indeed genuine, alive and indestructible.
Remember my story where the god whose eyes were beautiful with blue certainty like the sea answers the question of why tenderness always breaks through? “Because there is no other way” he says. And there isn’t.
Beyond what we expect the truth is, must or needs to be, the truth is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less. Always enough.
So what exactly is this place beyond our many doings?
It is not an abstract realm beyond life, rather, a place fully in this life, a place of simplicity and power, allowing no blame, guilt or lofty claims. It is a place of connection where karmic complications gladly surrender, and we…finally…become delicate.
It is a place of gentle confession and gladness, of pure seeings. A place where our great and small indiscretions are laid on the grass too, next to our souls, and lovingly forgotten.
And why am I writing about meetings in this place?
Because these meetings are so important. They could change our lives and awaken the brightest happinesses in our stars.
However, sometimes we can not get there unless we dip the edges of our sincerity into a refreshing little indifference.
Because sometimes, in the common bindings of ordinary days, there comes a moment when we realize our offerings are left un-taken in someone else’s wasteland. Our gifts then become heavy, and we become heavy carrying them. (Even though, we of course carry them with a sincerity, candor and sacred patience that only true love can possibly sustain.)
Sadly, inevitably, we become tiresome carriers of our own light. We are no longer spring-like in our blossomings or humble in our brightness. We become tainted by the very rejection we feed with love and hope for healing. From our wounds we are made whole again, but our wholeness is defined by the wearing of scars.
We are no longer beautiful. Our light, at this point, becomes nothing more than an ambassador for our pain.
This is where the little indifference comes in, and why it is so necessary. It is neither a dispassion nor immunity. It isn’t apathy or negligence. It is a cleansing…playful, audacious. It is a resurrection, a reclaiming of ourselves and of the value of our offerings. It is a smile at the edge of a wasteland, a knowing and message: we are light and beautiful and will not, ever again, insist on rescuing or mourning a gift or a dream from someone else’s vulgar un-taking.
So you see, this is how we become ready. Ready for a meeting in that place beyond our doings. If it is to be.
And if it isn’t to be, then we will simply rejoice in the truth that even if alone, we have danced. Exactly like Rumi says…danced, when we’ve broken open. Danced, if we’ve torn the bandage off. Danced in the middle of the fighting. Danced in our blood. Danced when we’re perfectly free.