The Real Self

For those of you who read my most recent post, here’s some math:

100 + 104 = 204

***

We will begin to marvel that we let ourselves build our lives around the belief that we, the real self, were identified with these various descriptions [age, gender, personality, relationships, job, income, house, car, vacations …] which descriptions required so much protection, justification, grief, anger, pride and so on. So much vital energy. We exhaust ourselves in the support of our descriptions.

Beatrice Bruteau

“All those descriptions add up to me.” That’s what I’ve often said. Beatrice points to the possibility that I’ve been wrong. And now I sense a “bigness” that’s far beyond. It doesn’t matter if wise things come out of my mouth. That proposed V-shaped body is irrelevant. Crying when faced with heartrending stuff isn’t the be-all-and-end-all.

Perhaps what I really am is a huge space in which I’m free to move, to express. As much as I feel pulled toward an unknown future, there is a stillness unaffected by the ups and downs of life.

What if Beatrice is right, and I’m wasting precious energy in protecting all that I’ve said I am? Can I be brave enough to put up my hand without knowing what I’ll say? Can I trust that the space is large enough to contain all that I have to give, without me hunkering down to fend off supposed threats?

There may be no need for armour, for umbrellas, for closing my eyes to ward off the world. Maybe I can keep my eyes open to all that comes my way. And truly what energies can be released if I feel no forces pressing down on me, if I really get that “I am free”? Well, the answer to that is beyond my current mind.

I walk slowly, porous in my body and soul. There is no danger. There is nothing outside of me and so I cannot be hurt. All blends in love. We go forward together.

And then fear shows itself again. I grab my shield and ready myself for the impending attack.

In time, the shield falls to the ground.

I am free once more.

(Repeat)

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