The Still Voice Within
Monday in sadhana I had an epiphany that went along these lines: I had this really calm moment and I heard a bit of wisdom, "You cannot make him happy." And with that I realized that if I cannot make him happy, I also cannot make him unhappy and vice versa: He cannot make me happy or unhappy. We can be kind to each other--or rude. We can practice forgiveness--or hold on to resentments. But ultimately happiness resides within ourselves and our relationship to the guru.
Getting quiet enough to hear the wisdom is the discipline. Letting go of my own agenda long enough to open my heart is an exercise in softening. Knowing that it will usually be up to me to make the shift is an exercise in acceptance. Enjoying the peace that follows is the gift.
Listening, we know the keys to all the worlds, especially our own inner world. Listen deeply. Love endlessly. And enjoy the light that follows.
Amalgamation, End Scene
"So what have you learned Dorothy?"
"Put the shovel down. Quit trying so hard. Relax and be yourself. 'There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.' Stay steady in the home of your heart, because even merging requires a home base--and my home base remains at the feet of the Guru."
Amalgamation Part the Second
What happens when the elements resist melting? Well, the smithy turns up the heat and someone usually gets burned, which hurts--a lot. As terrifying as it may be to amalgamate, it's even scarier to recognize that it may not be possible. What if I'm too set it my ways? What if he can't learn a new way to communicate? What if we end up just living at each other instead of for each other? Or worse, what if we just live with each other in some dry existence called duty and lose all devotion to one another? These are the thoughts post-fight and pre-make-up. But they are also very real.
The merging of two lives into one, two souls into one light, is a noble idea. It is the reason I was willing to set aside the life I knew and walk around the guru behind this particular man at this particular point in my life. I wanted to feel that sensation of losing oneself within a greater Self. I wanted to explore the unknown and because he was brought to me from the unknown, I dove--headfirst. But now that I'm here, in the water, I also want it to feel safe; I want there to be dry ground somewhere. But the act of merging or the lack thereof doesn't feel very safe. In fact, it may be the most dangerous thing I've ever tried to do. And although he said, "it's okay to keep falling for me;" if the ground has grown hard, won't it just hurt?
For now, that's where I'm at. It just hurts. But this is a report from the field, and in the middle of battle, you can't often see very clearly. I just need to get myself out of the way and pray for a miracle--another one. And hope that living for each other prevails on this day and every day.
Peace to all. Life to all. Love to all. Sat Nam.
Recently I was with my husband's family in the finger lakes region of New York. It was beautiful and relaxing and challenging (as family often is). I awoke one morning knowing that something wasn't quite right; my sister-in-law Graham noticed it right away commenting, "Something's not right in Sat Purkh world." I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time, but she was right. Something was amiss. I alluded it to it by casually saying, "I think I've fallen too much in love with my husband." And I was right. This was not an unfamiliar sensation. As the hours passed, the feeling of being lost grew deeper and wider until a great chasm had opened up within me. I suppose I thought I wouldn't experience it in my marriage as opposed to the many times I'd experienced it in other relationships--that feeling of disappearing, becoming lost in the other person, a sensation that I imagine is like dying. The shabad, Ik Ardaas, refers to this pattern of a woman falling in love with her husband and family and losing sight of the Guru. I recognized it for what it was, but couldn't quite shake myself out of it.
I confessed my confusion to my beloved and he said so sweetly, "it's okay to keep falling in love with me." And I realized that the fear that accompanies this feeling of disappearing is based on experience but not necessarily on Truth. In the past the person I've disappeared into often disappeared in turn, leaving me empty and hollow. But my Beloved remains, reflecting me back to myself and loving me more deeply with each passing day.
So perhaps this sense of disappearing is what happens when two become one? Here's a wonderful quote from Yogi Bhajan about the process of amalgamation; merging into the other so completely that neither is the same, ever again: "One girl sat with a boy and they started discussing their matrimonial proposal. The girl said, "Suppose, my dear, I lose my eyes." He said, "Dear, I'll become your eyes." She said, "Suppose I lose my legs and hands." He said, "Dear, I'll become your legs and hands." And finally in the end she said, "Suppose, dear, I lose myself." And he said, "Darling, then I'll become yourself." She said, "All right. I think we must marry each other."
Marriage is to lose yourself into one another. It is the process of amalgamation. If you put copper and zinc together, you'll end up with a new alloy-brass. There is neither copper nor zinc. In the institution of marriage two people become totally inter-merged. They lose their basic properties and come out with a common alloy which is socially known as a married couple, with totally different virtues and different allocations of duties in life." (Beads of Truth #33/34)
So the lesson is to keep diving more deeply into the other; remaining curious and letting caution fly upon the wind for doubt is a destiny-killer. And my destiny is to be one with my beloved and allow the fruit of that union to unfold in Guru's Grace.