14 Feb Something Missing in My Heart Tonight – February 15 2020
If we act to avoid pain (or get a huge enough blast of pleasure to blot out the discomfort) we automatically are identified with the ego. If we act in order to have joy, we identify with the Field.
David Hawkins, M.D., Ph.D.
Being human is an often painful proposition. From the moment we are pushed out of the womb into the vast, dangerous fullness of life – the sounds too loud, too sharp, light and color too bright, feeling exposed and vulnerable, at the mercy of these giants, their rough hands, many of them without a clue how to take care of themselves let alone an infant, it all hurts, everything hurts, even the air hurts against our skin – we are learning to deal with discomfort, pain and fear. Looked at from one point of view, for some it is the beginning of a lifetime of too much and not enough, of almost never finding the balance, almost never a moment of grace, a moment of comfort and ease.
Some of us look endlessly for the right medicine, the right something that will give us this comfort. Some of us find false comforts, and then use them until we use them up, until they no longer work; and some of us then are granted a moment of clarity, a moment of truth where we recognize that we are not these behaviors or these feelings or this grinding need, but rather something other than all of that.
Some of us are still alive when this moment comes. We are the lucky ones, forced to seek something deeper and more real than the pain and the angst and the medicine to numb it. Forced to ask: if I am not all this, then what am I? We are led, finally, to a power greater than the self, what some call the Self, what Dr. Hawkins (and others) call the Field, what some others call God. Totality, Higher Power, nature. The name doesn’t matter.
To ask the question, ‘What am I?’ is to begin to open to what we are that is beyond the pain. Is to awaken to the spirit of what we are, rather than the stories of our life. To awaken to our Being-ness, rather than all our doings. This is the beginning of our journey toward wholeness, and our willingness to find joy.
Some of us receive this gift, and some of us don’t. Some can find nothing other than the pain, and never can see through it enough to ask any question other than ‘where is my relief, where is my comfort, where is my peace, where is my next fix?’ And seeking the answer to that question, over a long enough period of time, will lead, eventually, to the letting go of the vehicle that feels the pain, i.e. the body.
For my friend Dawn. And Miles. Steve. Adrian. Chris. John. Al. And the others. May it be easier from here.
my eyes so soft
Your loneliness so quickly.
Let it cut more
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice so
My need of God