There is a strong misconception that thrives in many spiritual communities— that our imperfections are somehow wrong, that we are aiming to be perfect. This is not the truth; we could not possibly hide from our humanness, nor should we. Each imperfection is a perfectly acceptable aspect of the ground of all-that-is.
Since it takes everything, without exception, to make up the whole (which is not a thing, even though we would like to reify it), then everything that we think of as imperfection is actually the perfection-of-the-whole. Separation is not possible. Sit for a moment and truly feel that. Separation is not possible. We want to make ourselves special—uniquely qualified to be separated out, to be either less worthy, or better than someone else. But either stance is a form of arrogance—thinking we are something special—not a bad thing, but not the truth. If we want to end personal suffering, we must see though every one of those constructs and allow them to burn off, in a figurative sense. If truly seen to be not the truth, then unsupported by our belief in them, they fall away like any habit that no longer serves.
Most of my adult life—ever since the anorexic model, Twiggy, was so popular in the late 1960’s—I’ve thought that my body is mildly overweight, and viewed my earth-suit in a degrading way because of that separating thought. Arrogance. Simple arrogance. I still can get briefly caught by this—even though, when I trace a thought all the way back, I find no source of thought, no ownership of it, either. It has as much reality as a rainbow—yet, the groove is a deep one. Each time the thought arises, I pause long enough to see through the pattern, and it falls away. Each time the thought shows up, it has less strength than the time before. It is no longer of any concern. Notice, trace it back until it falls away. No grasping on to it, no hiding behind it.
One thought on “can’t hide”
Your inspiration grows in many ways-
The pattern falls away- never to return inshallah
No longer any concern
Tracing , no grasping
Out in the clear of this moment.
– New Moon poem, Amrita and Hafiz