In general, we are unaware of the light we are, the love we are. “Light” and “love” are just words, of course, which opens up all kinds of possibility for confusion and projection, but still. We don’t need to be enlightened; we need to see we are enlightened – naturally, right now, as is.
Yesterday I was sharing with someone and in the middle of the dialogue she said something – a few words, half a sentence – and I saw clearly that she was perfect. She was whole and perfect and there was not a single thing that needed to happen or unhappen. It was all finished.
Please understand I mean this in the simplest way possible: there was no light show, no angels, no mysterious voices or invisible choirs. It was all as plain and simple and easy as a hamburger. I just saw this friend precisely as she was in that moment, and she was perfect. It was as if I actually knew what I was talking about when I say there are no secrets, there are no mysteries.
Nor was this “seeing” a result of anything I do or don’t do. It didn’t reflect learning or study or diligence. It wasn’t a reward and it wasn’t a product. It was more in the nature of a happy accident caused by relative inattention. I mean that when we stop looking for it, there it is. And it was always there – it was always this – and this is it.
Yet this individual does not consider herself perfect. I know this because she says so, and we talk about it from time to time, our shared imperfection and what we are doing and not doing to rectify it. Psychotherapy, hallucinogenics, A Course in Miracles, 7-day sesshin, fasting, long walks in the forest, crystals and so forth.
Please forgive me a bit of intellectualism here, a bit of reason (where reason really needs to put on a propeller beanie and bounced around on a pogo stick). My first impulse was to try and convey this perfection to my friend. This was instantly followed by the realization it would do no good because there is really no way to translate vision into words. And finally, I saw with great clarity that we can only perceive in another what lies in us untended. The perfection was not my friend’s – and it was not mine – it was ours. My friend does not see the light in her; I do not see the light in me. But the light is there regardless.
Thus, for a moment – briefly – I too was perfect and whole. We were perfect and whole together, because that is the only way to be whole and perfect. And it passed, of course, which was okay, but its effects lingered, like the way the sky is still bright and lovely even after the sun has fallen below the horizon.
How happy I was, and am, to be in the company of those who give themselves that I might see at last I am not broken, not lonely, and not doomed. How amazed I am, and how grateful.