The happenstance of existence is only the first astonishment. You and I are two others. But deeply wrapped in the veils of thought and emotion, what can we feel of the divine spirit or the dynamic fires of creation? Very little. Without grace. We pray and we meditate, and much can be said about those two activities; nevertheless, grace transcends all efforts of the ego to carve out spiritual territory belonging to it, or to take on proud identification with forms of worship or grand personages of past and present as the openers of doors. Grace has no source other than the absolute spirit and the divine intent arising out it along with all of creation. Pray and meditate for a thousand years; tug at the veils that hide the bounty of life; cry out to the universe in hope and despair. However it goes, is however it goes.
The deeper we move into the unbounded reality of the awakening heart, something moves us to reach out into the beyond, to step gently out of the world of pain and struggle into an acceptance that the love that arises in the world and into you and me has an absolute source, and when we realize this source, we learn to bow down . . . again and again. In this episode we take that journey inward by removing the veils that darken the world we experience and the lives we live. Innocent love is real; it exists as the deepest mystery of life. We need merely look up from our stories and step out into the unknown.
A few decades ago, I was giving the occasional talk about things I thought I knew at the time, and one day I found myself in a Unity Church somewhere in North Carolina listening to the pastor of that institution whisper into my ear as I was about to address a small but curious group: Krishnamurti was here a few weeks ago and he said: “Every thought is a serpent!” I paused at the name of the great man but then crinkled my brow and thought: Thanks man, what a way to give a guy confidence!
So here I am a few decades later with that admonition still ringing true in my personal mind, which I have used shamelessly over the years for wrestling out a few ideas that I would then use to get attention, either through writing or through the pedestrian rhetoric of my spoken words. One of the background thoughts I have used for cover has been that waves of spirit inform these thoughts. Maybe so. A serpent, nevertheless, is still a serpent.
Those who have listened to episodes of my Invisible Room Podcast know that aside from a few tidbits of information or a few titillating ideas, I don’t say very much: minimal spiritual cosmology, no theoretical discussions, no steps or stages, no named god to worship, mantras to utter, ceremonies to perform, or sage to honor, or book to hold to my bosom. Perhaps more attention would come my way were I to latch onto one of those things and hoist a flag. Not my way, however, even with things I revere. Every thought is, indeed, a serpent, and the longing for attention is its hiss. Besides, the movement through each episode of The Invisible Room Podcast is more like a flower unfolding than a revelation for future thinking. I offer no graspable substance for sticking in one’s back pocket. Everything said is easily forgotten. But the scent of the flower! The scent!
The sacred texts are thoughts, too, serpents all; nevertheless, when I am not recording an episode of invisible room utterances, I might be taking shelter from the terrifying fires of life in one of those sacred books or swooning over the grand aromas arising out of supremely poetic manifestations of language. The mind doesn’t fold up, my friends; the best it can know, however, is when to bow down.
Despite the grand experiences of unity, there is always the divine other, love behind the veils, just over the horizon, never to be found, ever to be sought, even when the flame of personal desire goes out with a gust of nirvanic bliss and you have to start over with a new infinite and a new longing.