I recall clearly the very first time a middle aged man said to me, “My wife doesn’t understand me.” The place, the time, the smell, the realisation he had no interest in my enthused conversation, but only in the youth of my body. In my mind’s eye, I saw his wife, and I knew without doubt she understood him all too well. And then, a knight on a shining white charger. Or rather, my equally young friend, who’d somehow convinced three coach loads of conference delegates to not only wait, but to come find me. One of the best nights
People come to the nondual teaching for two main reasons. There are those with intellectual curiosity, who simply are intrigued to understand nonduality academically. And those who come with a feeling of having reached the end of the road, that every trick and treat has been used, and their basic experience of life is more distress than grace.
Somewhere, buried in the depths of heartbreak was the invitation to “heart broken open”. The greatest risk. But it glittered boldly, in an otherwise colourless desert. So I followed my star. Heart broken open brings light to the shadows. There’s no place to hide the rough edges, the grime, or the tender underbelly. The light penetrates further and wakes the hibernating beast. Joy, unconditional joy. Here she sits, in the tatters of what was broken, and she loves it all.
Your words are soft and invitingLike warmed towelsYet the glint in your eye says“Back off”The set of your jaw says“Don’t push me”And your hands semaphore“I hurt” I feel my spikes come outAnd I curl to protectMy tender places from youBack offDon’t push meI hurt This is my rough edgeCan I stay open, stay putUntil your eyes, your jawAnd your handsEcho your words?