Light

Yesterday at work my phone rang just once. Giving each other one ring used to be how my mom and I found out if the other was home and available to talk. I glanced up at the phone as an unfamiliar number flashed and disappeared, then glanced at the clock in the corner of my monitor. 11:45 AM — the exact time my mom died, and here it was the 9 month anniversary.

Later on I slipped out of the office to take a little walk, and thinking of my mom again I began to mentally chant Akal. A funny little blue car caught my eye as it passed by in a line of traffic. "Happy Trails to You" was painted in black letters across the back of it.

"Until we meet again." I finished.

Several days ago I posted a link on my Facebook page to the Huffington Post article End of Life Brain Activity - A Sign of the Soul? written by Stuart Hameroff, MD and Deepak Chopra, MD. Almost immediately the following comment from someone I haven't seen or really heard from in decades appeared beneath it,

"Maybe for death fearing wishful thinkers. Give the cells awhile to all die off and unable to emit sporatic electro-chemical signals. If you find something then, we can talk Deepak (that guys a serious piece of work)."

Fascinating the people who will crawl out from the woodwork when you pose a thought-provoking question. Have I mentioned here how much I adore Deepak Chopra? I sometimes joke that he was my "gateway drug" to Sanatana Dharma and Ayurveda. So of course my first reaction to that comment was one of defensiveness — quickly replaced by understanding. Who am I kidding? I've struggled with skepticism my whole life. I probably wouldn't leave a comment like that anywhere, but I might have entertained a similar thought in the past. And admittedly I've had a lion's share of fear. Fear of death. Fear of the depths of my grief. Fear that life could be meaningless.

Rumi writes in The Uses of Fear:

A donkey turning a millstone is not trying
to press oil from sesame seed. He is fleeing the blow
that was just struck and hoping to avoid the next.

For the same reason, the ox takes a load
of baggage wherever you want him to.
Shopkeepers work for themselves,
not for the flow of communal exchange.

We look to ease our pain, and this keeps civilization
moving along. Fear is the architect here.
Fear keeps us working near the ark.

Some human beings are safe havens.
Be companions with them. Others may seem to be friends,
but they are really consuming your essence
like donkeys lapping sherbet. Detach from them,
and feel your flexibility returning.
The inner moisture that lets you bend
into a basket handle is a quickening inside
that no one is ever afraid of.

Sometimes though, it is fear, a contracting,
that brings you into the presence.

When my mom died fear turned out to be only the jumping-off point into an ocean of deeper experience, complete with the occasional warm spots of bliss and some shivery cold spots of struggle. Among other things I've been learning lately, one of the hardest lessons has been that a spiritual practice is not as passive and easy as I once assumed. On the contrary, it's pretty challenging on a number of levels. Regardless, I've found more than enough reasons to keep swimming than simply "I don't want fear pull me under." Fear already pulled me under, and I managed to pop back up to the surface, thank you very much. Can I produce hard scientific proof of the sort that would change the opinion of my commenting friend? Of course not. That's not what the quest is about. I'm not selling something. I didn't write a comment back.

I'll let Rumi have the last word.

What happens with longing and spirit is different.
Illumination comes, and there is no more considering
what follows logically or seems contradictory.

Light dawns, and any talk of proof
resembles a blind man's cane at sunrise.