My heart was blown wide open. The Love I felt for the others in the room was unlimited. I looked into each of their eyes and felt their pain. I felt their pain of being here in a body. As I looked at them waves of sobbing overcame me. Their pain was my pain. There was no feeling of separation.
March 2009
Throughout my life I’ve had a recurring dream of driving a car downhill with brakes that barely work. I mean I have to press really hard on the foot petal and use all my physical strength, focus and will power to keep from losing control. Somehow I always manage to avert the unknown terrifying event that would surely take place if I didn’t do all this efforting. I am always alone in this dream. After waking up I would feel drained and uncomfortable the next day.
I immediately was reminded of a story about The Buddha. Someone asked him about the most important part of his Dharma: “Is it Emptiness? Is it no-self? Is it impermanence?” “No,” he answered,” It is compassion. And anywhere that you find a teaching on compassion, go there.” As I watched Hillary and other exchanges that weekend, I thought, “This is compassion. I need to learn this.”
The next few months I was in this state that I only had heard about: my mind quiet, an incredibly deep relaxation and feeling of sensuality in the body. Everything was so bright and direct, and I was feeling very raw because of it. Also, there was bliss and peace, the perfection of everything. I felt that the birds flying over, the trees I walked under, everything was a part of my body. The frantic urge to seek was gone. Just being here was it.
All at once, it was as if the tide ran out and left me, like a shell or piece of driftwood, just sitting on the sand. I was just there, utterly and completely there with no pretense, no personality, nothing. I couldn’t have provided a social persona if you had offered me real money. I’d had zillions of different voices in my head telling me what to do for almost as long as I could remember. Suddenly, there on the bed, everyone shut up.